at. 


BT 


T.    S.     ARTHUR. 


AL:~M.  HENDERSON, 

LOS  ANoELES, 
CALIF. 

PHILADELPHIA: 

JOHN  E.  POTTER  AND  COMPANY, 

£17  SAMSOM  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 
T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  in  and 
t'ci  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


STEREOTYPED   BY    L.   JOHNSON   AND  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


INTRODUCTION. 


What  can  w.tman  do? — Not  in  a  spirit  of  cavil  at  some  of 
the  extreme  doctrines  of  the  day  are  we  about  to  answer  this 
question.  Nor  do  we  purpose  to  meet  the  casuist  and  the 
moralist  in  grave  discussion.  Too  often,  in  the  latter  field, 
counsel  is  darkened  by  words  without  knowledge,  and  the  fina 
intuitions  dimmed  of  even  the  purest  minds.  Not  of  woman's 
equality  with  man  do  we  intend  to  speak;  for  on  that  subject, 
where  common  perception  is  at  fault,  reasonings  are  of  little 
value,  because  they  are  based,  for  the  most  part,  on  wrong 
premises.  Yet  do  we  not  disparage  reasonings;  for  these, 
when  enlightened,  are  the  ministers  of  judgment. 

Our  purpose  is  to  show,  in  a  series  of  life-pictures,  what 
woman  can  do,  as  well  for  good  as  for  evil.  We  design  to 
bring  her  before  you  as  a  living  entity,  that  you  may  see  her 
as  she  is,  and  comprehend  in  some  small  degree  the  influence 
she  wields  in  the  world's  progress  upward,  as  well  as  her 
power  to  mar  the  human  soul  and  drag  it  down  to  perdition 
when  her  own  spirit  is  darkened  by  evil  passions. 

A  large  proportion  of  the  wrong  woman  suffers  in  the  pre 
sent  constitution  of  society  may  be  fairly  set  down  as  the  fault 
of  woman.  Not  so  much  to  the  women  of  this  as  of  the  pre- 
seding  generation ;  for  the  men  of  the  time  are,  to  a  certain 
Icyree,  either  what  their  mothers  have  made  them  or  have, 

3 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

through  ignorance,  error,  or  neglect,  permitted  them  to  be 
come.  And  the  wrongs  that  women  may  suffer  in  the  next 
generation  will,  in  a  like  measure,  be  chargeable  to  the  women 
of  this.  The  child  is  far  more  easily  moulded  to  a  woman's 
will  than  the  man.  On  the  yielding  character  of  the  former 
ehe  may  impress  a  good  form,  but  she  will  find  the  task  of 
changing  the  full-grown  man  a  most  difficult,  if  not  an  im 
possible,  achievement.  Many  women  can  with  sorrow  attest 
the  truth  of  this  last  remark. 

How  vitally  important,  then,  is  it  that  woman  should  justly 
regard  her  own  relation  to  the  world  in  which  she  lives,  and 
should  see  how,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  her  action  upon 
it  involves  effects  of  the  highest  moment!  We  offer  her,  in 
the  following  sketches,  the  little  aid  it  is  in  our  power  to  give. 
The  scenes  presented  may  be  classed  as  imaginary;  but  we 
have  endeavored  to  keep  so  close  a  relation  between  the  actuaJ 
and  the  ideal  that  few  will  see  them  as  any  thing  less  or 
more  than  transcripts  from  nature.  In  entering  the  household, 
we  have  pictured  the  child-sister  as  well  as  the  life-weary 
grandmother  bending  under  her  weight  of  years,  and  woman 
in  many  varied  intervening  relations;  for  in  all  of  these 
relations  she  exercises  an  influence  most  potent  and  wide- 
extending. 


CONTENTS. 


MM 
CHAP.    I. — THE  CHILD-SISTERS — A  CONTRAST 7 

II. — THE  TWO   HOMES 17 

III. STRIFE 29 

IV. — A  GOSSIPING  NEIGHBOR 36 

V. TEMPTATION 48 

VI. — A  SERIOUS  ERROR 56 

VII. — TROUBLE 69 

VIII. — A   TRUE  WIFE 81 

IX. — MORE  CONTENTION 87 

X. — STEPS  TO  RUIN , 91 

XL — THE    TEMPTER , 98 

XII. — SUSPICION  AWAKENED 105 

XIII. — A  SAD  AFFLICTION  113 

XIV. THE  SELFISH  MOTHER 121 

XV  — MORE  STRIFE 137 

XVI. ALIENATION 145 

XVII. — AN  EXCITING  SCENE...                                                .  151 


6  CONTENTS. 

PA«« 

CDAP    XVIII. — SOWING  THE  WIND 162 

XIX. FALSE  FRIENDS 169 

XX. DRIVEN  TO  DESPERATION 178 

XXI. — THE  CONSUMMATION 186 

XXII. — A  TRUE  WOMAN'S  INFLUENCE 190 

XXIII. FALSE  FRIENDS  TRIED 196 

XXIV.— TOO  LATE 211 

XXV. — NEW  SCENES  AND   CHARACTERS 221 

XXVI. THE  GRANDMOTHER A  SURPRISE 229 

XXVII. — DRIVEN  TO  THE  WALL 238 

XXVIII.—  THE   CRISIS 249 

XXIX. — THE    PROTECTING    ANGEL 261 

XXX. — BETTER  ASPECTS 271 

XXXI. A   BRIGHTENING    FUTURE 282 

XXXII.— REPENTANCE 290 

XXXIII. — ANOTHER  RECONCILIATION 304 

XXXIV. — A   SCENE  WITH   JUDGE  GRAY 310 

XXXV. — HOME  AGAIN 319 

XXXVI. — CONCLUSION .  322 


a*. 


WHAT    CAN  WOMAN  DO? 


CHAPTER  L 

THE   CHILD-SISTERS — A  CONTRAST. 

EYES  brown  as  the  hazel-nut,  and  so  transparent 
that,  when  you  gazed  into  them,  you  seemed  to  ba 
looking  down  into  her  soul ;  chestnut  hair,  golden 
in  the  sunshine ;  brow  white  as  a  snow-flake,  and  lips 
and  cheeks  in  hue  like  the  fragrant  apple-blossom. 
There  she  sits  by  the  open  window,  through  which 
the  cool  sweet  air  floats  in  from  the  garden,  happy 
in  her  own  innocence, — the  loving  child-sister !  The 
kitten  purs  by  her  side,  rubs  himself  against  her 
plump  little  ankle,  and  then  springs  into  her  lap, 
sure  of  a  gentle  caress.  The  wren,  whose  fledglings 
are  hidden  away  somewhere  above  the  eaves,  hops 
down  beneath  the  window  for  crumbs,  nor  starts  at 
her  voice  as  the  child  bends  forward  to  admire  her 
soft  coat  and  dainty  legs.  Happy  innocent!  As  we 
picture  thee  in  imagination,  and  think  of  thy  sweet 
life,  Memory  turns  a  page  written  upon,  and  sealed 
lor  all  time, — yea,  for  eternity, — written  upon  so 
many  years  gone  by  that  we  cannot  name  the  cycle ; 

7 


8  WHAT  CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

and  we   see  the  words,  glowing  in   characters  of 

light,  TO  BE  GOOD  IS  TO  BE  HAPPY. 

We  scarcely  comprehended  their  meaning,  when, 
in  some  old,  tiresome  spelling-book,  or  on  soiled 
copy-slip,  we  first  read  these  words  of  wisdom,  Ic 
a  certain  sense  they  were  cabalistic.  Nor  did  their 
just  value  appear  until  the  sunny  days  of  childhood 
were  long  past,  and  the  stern  conflict  with  self  had 
commenced.  Then,  in  hours  of  despondency  and 
discouragement,  when  it  seemed  as  if  the  soul's 
enemies  were  about  to  achieve  their  triumph,  rays 
of  light  suddenly  broke  in  upon  the  darkness,  and 
in  letters  of  burning  gold  we  read  these  heart- 
etrengtheni  »ig  words,  and  realized  something  of 
their  true  significance. 

Yes,  happy  innocent !  now  in  the  golden  age  of 
thy  being,  very  near  to  thee  are  the  angels,  and 
around  thee,  like  a  protecting  garment,  is  thrown 
their  sphere  of  celestial  love.  Hidden  away  and 
quiescent  in  the  unawakened  depths  of  thy  human 
soul  lie  those  impulses  to  evil  which,  alas!  all  who 
are  born  of  woman  inherit.  Blessed  art  thou  in 
this, — that,  in  thy  soul,  they  seem  dead  forms  rather 
than  sleeping  vitalities  !  As  yet  they  have  not  even 
mcaned,  nor  turned  in  their  deep  slumber,  nor 
given  a  sign  of  awakening.  Yes ;  happy  art  thou 
in  this,  gentle  child-sister,  for,  in  most  hearts,  evil 
seeds  spring  quickly  into  eager  life  ! 

Day  was  declining ;  and  the  slanting  sunbeams, 
which  had  stolen  through  the  meshes  of  leaves  in 
the  old  tree-tops  and  fallen  in  golden  waves  on  the 


THE    CHILp-SISTEKS.  9 

chestnut  hair  of  little  Edie  Penrose,  as  she  sat  by 
the  open  window,  were  now  reflected  back  by  the 
denser  foliage,  and  the  child  was  veiled  in  the 
cooling  shadows  of  the  great  elms  that  spread  their 
protecting  arms  above  and  around  the  dwelling. 
She  had  been  almost  an  hour  thus  alone,  yet 
scarcely  conscious  of  the  passage  of  time,  when  she 
suddenly  started,  as  a  low  cry  came  faintly  down 
from  her  mother's  room,  and  then  flitted  away 
almost  as  lightly  as  a  bird  on  the  wing.  There 
was  only  music  in  that  cry  for  the  ears  of  Edie, 
for  it  came  from  the  lips  of  her  baby-brother.  How 
quickly  the  voice  of  grieving  was  hushed  when  the 
sister's  love-lit  face  bent  over  the  cradle !  To  the 
babe  it  was  the  face  of  an  angel. 

Up  to  this  time,  for  hours,  a  deep  tranquillity  had 
reigned  in  the  household,  which  seemed  the  very 
dwelling  of  peace  and  order.  But  now  were  heard 
below  the  loud  banging  of  a  door,  sharp,  almost 
angry,  voices,  and  the  confused  sound  of  hurrying 
feet.  Edie's  two  older  brothers  had  returned  from 
school,  and,  as  it  sometimes  happened,  in  no  amia 
ble  temper.  A  disagreement  about  some  trifle  on 
the  way  had  soured  their  feelings  toward  eaeh 
other,  and  they  entered  their  home  with  anger  in 
their  hearts  and  taunting  words  upon  their  lips. 

Edie,  the  moment  she  heard  their  voices,  bent 
quickly  over  the  cradle  to  kiss  the  babe.  Then, 
gliding  like  a  spirit  from  the  room,  she  almost  fle\v 
down-stairs,  and  was  beside  her  brothers  just  as  one 
of  them  raised  his  hand  and  exclaimed,  fiercely, — 


10  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"  I'll  hit  you  if  you  say  that  again,  Eddy  !" 

Eddy  was  about  repeating  the  offensive  word, 
when  the  light  arm  of  his  little  sister  glided  around 
his  neck,  and  the  loving  child  said,  in  a  voice  that 
found  i  ts  way  to  his  heart, — 

"Don't !  don't,  Eddy  dear!" 

"He's  afraid!"  was  on  the  lips  of  George,  the 
o  der  brother;  but  he  repressed  the  taunt  ere  it 
leaped  to  utterance ;  for  he  likewise  felt  the 
gentler  influence  that  always  came  with  his  sister's 
presence. 

How  instantly  stilled  was  the  tempest  of  passion, 
raging  but  now  so  fiercely  in  these  young  hearts, — 
stilled  by  the  voice  of  love  ! 

"Brother  George."  Edie  had  withdrawn  her  arm 
from  the  neck  of  Eddy,  and  now  stood  looking  into 
the  face  of  her  elder  brother.  The  boy  turned  him 
self  partly  away,  as  if  to  hide  his  countenance,  yet 
marred  by  anger,  from  eyes  that  were  reading  its 
every  expression. 

"Brother  George,"  (Edie  repeated  the  words, 
but  spoke  in  a  changed  voice  and  with  a  quickening 
nterest  in  her  tones,)  "I've  been  waiting  for  you 
«x>  come  home  so  long!  Aunt  Hetty  brought  me 
such  a  nice  little  book,  full  of  pictures ;  and  I  want 
you  to  read  me  all  about  them.  Won't  you,  now., 
Goorgie  ?'' 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  will,"  answered  George,  in  a 
cheerful  way.  "  Where  is  the  book,  Edie  ?" 

"In  the  parlor.  I'll  get  it  for  you  in  a  mir.ute;" 
and  tne  child  bounded  away.  Ir.  a  few  moment* 


THE   CHILD-SISTERS.  11 

she  returned  with  the  book,  and  the  three  children 
went  ont  into  the  garden  and  seated  themselves  on 
a  bench  under  the  grape-vine  arbor.  Edie  was  in 
the  centre,  and  George  and  Eddy  on  each  side 
of  her. 

"  I'll  hold  it  just  so.  and  then  we  can  all  see  the 
pictures,"  said  Edie,  as  she  spread  the  book  open  on 
her  lap.  "  Can't  you  read  it  if  I  hold  it  just  so  ?" 
And  Edie  looked  so  lovingly  into  the  face  of 
George,  that  he  could  not  answer  any  thing  but 
"Yes,"  much  as  he  felt  inclined  to  get  the  book 
entirely  into  his  own  hands,  and  thus  prevent  Eddy 
from  looking  at  the  pictures  while  he  read  about 
them  to  his  sister. 

It  so  happened  that  the  first  story  in  the  book 
was  about  a  selfish  boy,  and  the  second  about  one 
who  got  angry  and  struck  his  brother,  and  the  third 
about  a  good  little  sister  who  always  tried  to  make 
peace  between  her  brothers. 

"I  guess  this  book  was  written  about  us,"  said 
George,  whose  better  feelings  were  now  restored ; 
"  at  least,  about  you  and  me,  Edie.  I'm  the  boy  that 
gets  angry,  and  you're  the  good  sister.  Here,  Eddy," 
— and  he  drew  a  ball  of  red  twine  from  his  pocket, — 
"you  may  have  the  \vhole  of  it  to  keep.  I'll  gel 
some  more  from  Jonas  to-morrow." 

"I  don't  want  but  half  of  it,"  replied  Eddy, 
touched  by  the  generous  change  in  his  brothei'e 
feelings;  (the  dispute  had  been  about  this  ball  «»f 
twine:)  "  let  me  cut  it  in  two." 

"Take  it  all,  Eddy,"   said  George,  kindly,     "i 


12  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

don't  want  a  bit  of  it.     Jonas  will  give  me  another 
hall." 

"  Thank  you,  brother,"  returned  Eddy,  in  a  graW 
fill  voice. 

Thus  all  was  reconciled  ere  the  sun  went  down 
on  their  anger.  And  now  the  reading  of  the  book 
was  resumed  by  George.  It  lay  upon  the  lap  of 
Edie^  who  had  drawn  an  arm  around  each  of  her 
brothers ;  and,  as  one  little  story  after  another  en 
tered  their  minds,  their  quick  imaginations  realizing 
every  scene  with  lifelike  distinctness,  the  waves  of 
better  feelings  swept  over  the  sands  of  life,  oblite 
rating  every  footprint  of  evil  passion. 

Not  very  distant  from  the  dwelling  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Penrose,  the  parents  of  these  children,  a  scene 
very  unlike  the  one  we  have  just  described  oc 
curred  about  the  same  time.  Let  us  draw  the 
picture. 

A  restless  little  girl,  nearly  the  age  of  Edie  Pen- 
rose,  wearied  with  herself  and  all  around  her, 
resorted,  at  last,  to  one  of  her  mother's  drawers 
which  she  found  unlocked,  and  commenced  rum 
maging  among  its  secret  treasures.  While  engaged 
in  this  forbidden  employment,  she  was  disconcerted 
by  the  entrance  of  her  mother,  who,  filled  with 
sudden  anger  at  the  child,  jerked  her  away  from 
the  drawer,  and,  with  sharp  words  and  blows, 
punished  her  for  this  misconduct.  But  the  punish 
ment  administered  thus  intemperately  had  no  sa 
lutary  effect.  The  offender  was  angry,  net  peni 
tent.  With  her  young  face  marred  by  bad  passions, 


THE   CHILD-SISTEKS.  13 

ehe  left  the  room.  On  her  way  down-stairs  she  saw 
the  kitten  quietly  asleep  upon  the  landing.  The 
flight  affected  her  with  no  gentle  feelings,  but  rather 
increased  her  ill-humor;  for,  stooping  down,  she 
caught  it  up  rudely  and  threw  it  over  the  baluster 
into  the  passage  below.  The  kitten  cried  with  pain 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  ran  off  and  hid  itself 
under  one  of  the  sofas  in  the  parlor.  Hearing  the 
noise  and  cry,  the  cook  called  out, — 

"Who  did  that?  Was  it  you,  Kate?"  But  the 
sulky  child  made  no  answer. 

"  If  I  was  your  mother  I'd  whip  you  well,  you 
bad,  cruel  girl !"  said  the  cook.  "To  hurt  a  kitten 
in  that  way!" 

"Well,  you  a'n't  my  mother;  and  I'll  hurt  the 
kitten  whenever  I  please.  Why  don't  it  stay  down 
stairs  ?" 

This  was  the  child's  reply  to  the  cook's  rebuke. 

"I  wish  you'd  go  up  into  the  nursery;  I  don't 
want  bad  girls  down  here,"  said  the  latter. 

"I'll  stay  just  as  long  as  I  please.  It  isn't  your 
house !"  retorted  Kate. 

Cook  said  no  more,  for  she  knew,  from  expe 
rience,  that  it  would  do  no  good.  The  little  girl 
lingered  in  the  kitchen  for  some  time,  more  for  the 
purpose  of  showing  cook  that  she  would  stay  there 
just  as  long  as  she  pleased  than  because  she  found 
any  thing  particularly  attractive.  She  was  about 
returning  to  the  nursery,  when  her  ears  caught  the 
Bound  of  voices  in  the  street,  and,  running  to  the 
door,  sne  met  her  two  older  brothers,  William  and 

2 


1  1  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    ilO  ? 

Jacob,  iu  warm  debate  on  some  subject  about  which 
they  bad  disagreed.  It  so  happened  that  William 
and  Kate  had  quarrelled  at  dinner-time,  and  that 
Kate,  being  in  the  mother's  view  most  to  blame, 
had  been  required  to  submit.  This  she  had  done 
with  a  very  bad  grace.  All  the  afternoon  she  had 
nursed  her  anger  against  William,  and  now  the 
eight  of  him  fanned  it  into  a  new  flame.  Seeing 
that  there  was  some  trouble  between  him  and  Jacob, 
she  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  in  her  decision  as  to 
who  was  in  the  wrong,  but,  catching  the  latter  by 
the  arm,  she  said,  in  an  excited  voice, — 

"What's  the  matter?  What  has  he  done  to 
you?" 

"  Why,  he  says  Mrs.  Brown's  cow  has  three  white 
spots  on  her  forehead,  and  I  say  she  hasn't  but 
two." 

"Three  spots!"  exclaimed  Kate,  in  a  tone  of  con 
tempt.  "  She  hasn't  but  two.  William  can't  see." 

"  I  can  see  as  well  as  you,  miss,  and  a  great  deal 
better!"  retorted  William.  "Anyhow,  you've  got 
nothing  to  do  in  the  matter.  I  wish  you'd  mind 
your  own  business." 

Kate  made  a  face  at  her  brother,  and  then,  catch 
ing  Jacob  by  the  arm,  said,  as  she  pulled  him  into 
the  passage, — 

"  Come !  I've  got  something  good  up  in  my  baby- 
house.  William  sha'n't  have  a  bit  of  it.  lie's  a 
mean  fellow  anyhow." 

Jacob,  whose  anger  against  his  brother  would 
have  passed  away  in  a  few  moments  but  for  th,is  in- 


THE   CHILD-SISTERS.  15 

terference  on  the  part  of  his  sister,  yielded  to  the 
tempting  invitation,  and,  turning  away  from  Wil 
liam,  followed  Kate,  who  ran  lightly  before  him 
along  the  passage  and  up  the  stairway. 

"  1 11  have  some  of  it,  I  know !"  exclaimed  Wil 
liam,  following  quickly. 

"  Go  back !  Go  back !  You  sha'n't  look  into  rny 
baby-house,  you  ugly,  mean  fellow!"  cried  Kate, 
pausing  on  one  of  the  landings  and  shaking  her 
hand  at  William. 

"We'll  see!"  was  the  boy's  resolute  response,  as 
he  pressed  forward. 

"Go  back!"  Louder  and  more  passionate  was 
the  voice  of  the  angry  child. 

"You  sha'n't  come  near  the  baby-house!"  said 
Jacob,  standing  before  William,  to  prevent  his  going 
any  farther. 

"I'll  go  just  where  I  please,"  retorted  the  boy, 
throwing  himself  against  his  brother  as  he  spoke, 
and  almost  knocking  him  down. 

A  blow  from  the  suddenly-clenched  fist  of  Jacob, 
given  with  much  force  in  the  blind  excitement  of 
the  moment,  was  followed  by  a  gush  of  blood  from 
the  boy's  nose.  A  wild  cry  of  pain  rang  through 
the  house,  bringing  the  mother  and  domestics  to  the 
scene  of  trouble. 

"What's  the  matter?  Who  did  this?"  the  mo- 
ther  asked,  in  an  excited  voice. 

"Jacob  hit  me  with  his  fist!  Oh,  dear!  Oh! 
Oh!  Oh,  dear!"  And  he  cried  louder  from  passion 
than  from  pain. 


16  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

"  You  bad,  wicked  boy!"  exclaimed  the  mother, 
waiting  for  no  further  explanations.  And  then  she 
Btruck  Jacob  three  or  four  severe  blows  on  the  side 
of  his  head. 

"Katy  told  him  to  strike  me,"  cried  "William,  a 
feeling  of  gratified  revenge  in  his  heart  at  the  pun 
ishment  of  Jacob. 

"  I  didn't !  I  didn't !  You  know  I  didn't !  It's 
all  a  lie !" 

"  How  dare  you  ?"  ejaculated  the  mother,  now 
turning  upon  Kate  and  boxing  her  ears  soundly. 

This  summary  visitation,  the  result  of  a  false  ac 
cusation  on  the  part  of  "William,  only  made  stronger 
Kate's  angry  feelings  toward  her  brother. 

"  He  did  tell  a  lie,  and  he  knows  it !  I  never  said 
a  word  to  Jacob  about  striking  him." 

"  Hush,  this  instant !"  And  Katy's  mother  raised 
her  hand  again. 

Fear  of  punishment  kept  the  child  silent.  It  took 
some  time  to  restore  order. 

After  "William's  face  was  bathed  and  the  blood 
stanched,  their  mother  tried  to  investigate  the  cause 
of  trouble ;  but  there  was  so  much  of  accusation  and 
denial  on  all  sides  that  she  sought  in  vain  for  the 
true  solution,  and  cut  the  knot  by  subjecting  all 
three  to  additional  punishment. 

The  day  went  down  in  tears  for  these  young 
hearts,  in  which  were  germs  of  go  )d  as  well  as  evil. 
But,  unhappily,  evil  seeds  found  the  quickest  vi 
tality,  and  weeds  grew  where  £  igrant  blossoms 
should  havp  opened  to  the  morning  sunshine. 


THE   TWO   HOMES.  IT 

CHAPTER  H. 

THE     TWO     HOMES. 

I»  ^his  brief  introduction  we  have  presented 
'limppes  of  two  families, — the  first,  that  of  a  phy- 
gician,  named  Penrose,  living  in  the  rural  town  of 
Arden .  and  the  other,  that  of  a  lawyer  and  politi 
cian,  ramed  Eldridge,  residing  in  the  same  place. 
As  we  have  no  very  interesting  particulars  to  relate 
touching  the  past  histories  of  these  families,  we  shall 
not  occupy  time  in  retrospection,  but  trace  their 
ways  in  life  onward  from  the  period  in  which  they 
are  first  brought  to  the  reader's  notice.  The  con 
trast  between  the  child-sisters  is  strongly  enough 
marked.  Just  such  children  are  all  around  us,  doing 
their  work  of  good  or  evil,  and  beautifying  or  mar 
ring  the  young  spirits  with  which  they  meet  ia 
daily  intercourse.  Happy  the  brothers  who  have 
among  them  a  minister  of  love  like  Edie  Penrose ! 

The  mother  of  Edie  was  a  wise,  true-hearted  wo 
man,  who  loved  her  children  unselfishly.  She  was 
qriet  in  exterior,  but  thoughtful  and  earnest  in  all 
her  purposes.  Mere  impulse  she  steadily  repressed, 
mul  ever  refused  to  act  until  all  sudden  turbulence 
of  feeling  had  subsided  and  clearness  of  vision 
made  every  thing  plain  before  Ler.  Among  her 
children  she  maintained,  if  there  was  any  thing 
wro  kg  in  their  conduct,  an  unimpassioned  exterior , 

2* 


18  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

for  she  knew  the  power  of  a  calm  word  and  tone 
over  the  spirit  of  another.  "With  the  exception  of 
Edie,  they  were  very  much  like  other  children,  having 
their  selfish  impulses  and  times  of  fretf'uluess,  irri 
lability,  and  ill-nature.  To  meet  these  with  a  sooth- 
ng  calmness,  and  a  wise  sifting  of  all  cases  of  diffi 
culty  among  them,  until  the  cause  of  disagreement 
was  ascertained,  she  knew  to  he  far  better  than  to 
visit  them  in  their  states  of  mental  disorder  with 
hard  words  of  reproof,  or  to  exhibit  any  sign  of 
mental  disturbance.  And  so  it  came  that  the  chil 
dren  of  Mrs.  Penrose,  from  the  earliest  dawn  of  rea 
son,  looked  to  her  as  their  loving  friend.  If  they 
had  trouble  among  themselves,  they  were  sure  to 
find  in  her  an  impartial  umpire.  If  they  had  com 
mitted  faults,  no  harsh  reproof  or  unjust  censure 
awaited  them.  If,  from  any  cauue,  fretfulness  and 
impatience  disturbed  their  young  spirits,  they  were 
met  by  no  fretfulness  and  impatience  in  return. 

But  it  was  not  so  in  the  home  of  Mrs.  Eldridge's 
children.  There  disorder  and  strrfe  reigned,  pun 
ishments  were  meted  in  anger,  all  the  heart's  gen 
tler  feelings  repressed,  hate  engendered,  and  love 
crushed  out  of  young  and  tender  spirits. 

How  different  was  it  in  these  two  families  when 
evening  closed  around  them !  There  were  in  both 
elements  of  unhappiness,  as  we  have  seen  ;  but  un 
selfish  love  in  one  household  had  power  to  make  all 
bright  and  cheerful,  while  in  the  other  every  bouie- 
light  burned  dim. 

Dr.  Penrose  was  not  naturally  a  man  of 


THE   TWO   HOMES.  19 

temper.  Oppression  and  suffering  in  childhood  had 
sobered  liis  feelings,  and  early  disappointments  taken 
from  him  that  eager  hope  which  is  the  element  of 
eotiiG  men's  success  in  life.  He  was  sensitive  1o  A 
fa  nit, — easily  disturbed  by  any  thing  that  interposed 
between  him  and  the  realization  of  his  purposes, 
and  too  quick,  at  times,  to  give  utterance  to  his  feel 
ings  when  disturbed. 

At  the  close  of  the  day  on  which  our  story  begins, 
Dr.  Penrose  came  home,  after  a  weary  round  of 
visits,  and  with  one  or  two  cases  of  dangerous  ill 
ness  resting  with  a  troubled  weight  upon  his  mind. 
He  entered  the  house  with  his  usual  quiet  step,  and, 
after  going  into  his  office  to  see  if  any  new  calls 
awaited  him,  passed  on  to  the  pleasant  family  sit 
ting-room.  Little  Edie  was  there,  and  the  sight  of 
her  was  as  a  sunbeam  on  his  path.  As  he  seated 
himself  in  the  great  arm-chair,  the  child  climbed 
upon  his  lap,  and,  twining  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
kissed  him  again  and  again. 

"Do  you  love  father?"  The  doctor  asked  the 
question  almost  mechanically,  for  his  thoughts  were 
absent. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  love  you  and  mother  better  than  all 
the  world!"  returned  the  little  one,  in  a  voice  so 
full  of  affection  that  the  words  found  an  echo  in 
his  heart  and  produced  an  unwonted  thrill  of  delight, 
Again  his  neck  was  clasped  with  an  eager  pressure. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  all  day,  love?"  in 
quired  the  father,  as  he  returned  the  caress  of  Edi« 

"Playing,"  was  the  answer. 


20  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"Do  you  play  all  the  time?" 

"Oh,  no!  Sometimes  I  rock  the  era-lie,  and 
sometimes  I  hold  the  baby." 

"  Do  you,  indeed  ?" 

"Oh,  yes!  And  I  can  sew,  too.  I  hemmed  a 
white  pocket-handkerchief  for  you  this  afternoon,  ' 

"  Did  yea  ?  Why,  you  are  a  smart  little  girl !  1 
must  give  you  another  kiss  for  that." 

"And  mother  said  it  was  done  so  nice,"  continued 
the  happy  child. 

Gradually  the  cheerful,  loving  spirit  of  little  Edie 
scattered  the  dim  shadows  which  had  gathered 
around  the  spirit  of  Dr.  Penrose ;  and,  when  his  wife 
joined  him  in  the  sitting-room,  his  face  was  all 
aglow  with  smiles.  Only  a  few  words,  however,  had 
passed  between  them,  ere  a  cry  of  anger  from  an 
adjoining  apartment,  followed  by  voices  in  conten 
tion,  scattered  these  smiles,  and  the  doctor  exclaimed 
fretfully, — 

"Oh,  dear!  those  two  boys  worry  me  to  death! 
They're  always  quarrelling  about  something." 

As  Dr.  Penrose   said  this,  Edie    slid  down  from 
his  lap,  and  was  out  of  the  room  in  a  moment.    Th 
doctor  was  about  rising  to  go  and  settle  the  dispute 
when  his  wife  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said, — 

"  Wait  a  moment."  And  then  she  stood  in  a  \\s 
tening  attitude.  "Edie  will  make  all  right  between 
them." 

And  so  it  proved.  Scarcely  had  she  entered  the 
room  from  which  had  come  sounds  of  discord,  ere 
tho  strife  ceased. 


THE  TWO  HOMES.  21 

"What  a  magic  there  is  about  that  child!"  re 
marked  the  doctor. 

"It   is   the   maffic  of  love,"  said   Mrs.  Penrose 

O  7 

"Every  one  feels  it." 

The  parents  waited  for  some  minutes  for  Edie  to 
return;  but  the  little  sister,  after  restoring  harmony 
between  her  brothers,  remained  with  them,  entering 
into  their  pleasures  and  softening  their  intercourse. 

"I  saw  a  very  different  sight  from  this  just  now. 
as  I  came  home,"  said  Dr.  Penrose.  "Little  Katy 
Eldridge  is  far  from  being  like  our  Edie." 

"  Very  far,  indeed !  The  child,  it  seems  to  me,  i» 
possessed  at  times  of  an  evil  spirit." 

"You  would  have  believed  so  if  you  had  seen 
her,  as  I  did,  a  little  while  ago,  snatch  a  ripe  pear 
from  the  hand  of  her  brother  William,  and,  after 
biting  off  a  large  piece,  throw  the  pear  at  Jacob, 
calling  to  him  at  the  same  time  to  run  away  with  it. 
Jacob,  thus  incited  to  an  act  of  selfish  injustice, 
caught  the  pear  and  ran  oft',  crowding  it  greedily 
into  his  mouth  at  every  step.  "William,  maddened 
by  this  outrage,  took  up  a  large  stone  and  flung  it 
with  all  his  might  at  Jacob.  I  stopped  and  held  my 
breath ;  for,  if  the  stone  had  struck  the  boy,  it  could 
not  have  failed  to  hurt  him  seriously.  Fortunately, 
the  aim  was  not  well  taken,  and  the  stone  passed  on 
through  the  air  harmless.  At  this  moment  I  turned 
and  saw  Mr.  Eldridge  near  by:  he  had  also  wit 
nessed  the  scene.  There  was  a  look  of  pain  on  his 
fine  countenance,  as  he  hurried  past  me  with  only  a 
nod  of  recognition  and  entered  the  house,  followed 


22  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

bj  the  children,  to  whom  he  had  called  in  a  low  but 
Btern  voice." 

"  What  a  home-reception  for  a  father,"  remarkei 
Mrs.  Pen  rose,  "after  a  day  of  care  and  labor!" 

"From  some  cause,"  said  Mr.  Penrose,  "Mr.  El« 
dridge  is  changing.  He  used  to  be  one  of  the  most 
buoyant-spirited  men  in  Arden ;  but  he  is  flagging 
of  late.  It  can't  be  on  account  of  his  business,  for 
he  has  the  best  practice  of  any  lawyer  at  our  bar, 
and  is  rapidly  accumulating  property." 

"I'm  afraid,"  Mrs.  Penrose  replied,  "judging  from 
what  I  see  occasionally,  that  his  home-life  is  by  no 
means  as  pleasant  as  it  should  be.  Mrs.  Eldridge  ia 
a  woman  of  very  uncertain  temper,  conducts  her 
housekeeping  in  a  way  to  secure  but  little  order  or 
comfort,  and  quarrels  with  her  children  instead  of 
guiding,  leading,  and  controlling  them.  It  reully 
chiMed  me  to  hear  her  speak  to  Katy  the  other  day. 
'You  little  torment!'  she  exclaimed,  as  the  child 
overturned  her  work-basket.  And  then  she  caught 
her  passionately  by  the  arm  and  thrust  her  from  the 
room,  saying,  as  she  did  so,  '  Go  off  to  the  kitchen, 
and  don't  let  me  see  your  face  again  to-day  !'  Katy 
went  away,  screaming  to  the  full  capacity  of  her 
lungs.  As  soon  as  her  voice,  from  distance,  ceased 
to  ring  in  our  ears  with  deafening  power,  Mrs.  El- 
dridge  said,  'Oh,  dear!  that  child  worries  the  life 
out  of  me !  I  never  saw  such  a  pest.  She's  into 
every  thing  and  interfering  with  everybody.  She'll 
be  the  death  of  me  yet!  Such  a  meddlesome,  quar 
relsome  little  wretch  was  never  before  born !' " 


THE   TWO    HOMES.  28 

"  Why,  she  don't  deserve  to  have  children!"  said 
the  doctor,  warmly. 

"I  doubt  if  she  appreciates  the  blessing,"  re 
marked  his  wife.  "'Troublesome  comforts'  they 
are,  in  her  estimation." 

"A  kind  of  necessary  evil,  as  I  once  heard  a 
woman  of  her  class  remark." 

"Yes.  But  if  she  would  only  meet  the  evil,  if 
sut.li  she  regards  it,  with  a  measure  of  wise  forbear 
ance,  there  would  be  some  merit  in  the  case.  As  it 
is,  few  if  any  ameliorating  features  are  presented." 

"It  is  well  for  me,  Lucy,"  said  the  doctor,  turn 
ing  a  kind  glance  upon  his  wife,  "that  the  genius 
of  my  home  wears  a  gentler  aspect.  I  should  be 
driven  away  in  despair  if  the  atmosphere  were  never 
sunry  and  the  sky  never  free  from  clouds." 

Tl<e  children  entered  at  this  moment,  in  gay 
spirits,  Eddy  and  George  bearing  their  sister  be 
tween  them,  sitting  on  their  clasped  hands,  while 
her  arms  were  around  their  necks.  It  was  a  picture 
of  love,  the  vision  of  which  warmed  and  gladdened 
the  parents'  hearts.  A  little  while  they  bore  her 
around  the  room  in  a  kind  of  triumphal  march,  and 
then  parsed  out,  leaving  a  blessing  behind  them. 

"Dear  child  !  She  has  in  her  less  of  earth  than 
heaven,"  said  Mrs.  Penrose.  "I  often  tremble  when 
I  look  at  her,  lest  she  fade  from  my  sight  like  a 
vision  of  beauty." 

The  doctor  sighed.  The  same  thought  had  often 
flitted  through  his  own  mind,  and  it  always  troubled 
him. 


24  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"We  could  not  spare  her  from  our  household/' 
said  he*.  "  Oh,  no !  no  !  Were  it  not  for  her,  our 
two  boys,  both  so  quick-tempered,  would  never 
harmonize.  "What  a  blessed  influence  she  has  over 
them !  How  qrickly,  in  the  sunshine  of  her  pre 
sence,  their  stormy  passions  are  subdued.  Happy 
are  we  in  such  a  child !" 

Mr.  Eldridge,  who  had  seen  the  act  of  Katy  when 
she  snatched  the  pear  from  her  brother,  was  greatly 
incensed  against  her  as  the  instrument  of  discord 
between  her  brothers,  whose  aptness  to  disagree  waa 
to  him  a  source  of  much  anxiety.  Catching  her  by 
the  arm  as  he  entered  the  house,  he  lifted  her  from 
the  floor  and  carried  her  to  the  sitting-room,  where 
his  wife  was  trying  to  finish  the  last  few  pages  of  a 
book  which  had  occupied  most  of  her  time  during 
the  day. 

"Look  here,  Harriet!"  said  he,  with  unusual  ex 
citement  of  manner;  "if  you  don't  do  something 
with  this  girl,  I  shall  have  to  send  her  oflT  where  she 
can  find  nobody  to  quarrel  with.  The  way  she  con 
ducts  herself  is  terrible !" 

"What  is  the  matter  now,  Mr.  Eldridge;'"  re 
turned  his  wife,  disturbed  in  her  pleasant  occupation 
of  reading,  and  brought  down  with  a  heavy  jar  to 
an  uncongenial  actuality. 

"What  is  always  the  matter?  Kate  has  beeu 
making  trouble  between  the  boys  again.  I  never 
saw  such  a  child !" 

"What  has  she  done,  Mr.  Eldridge  ?"  The  m  »1her 
of  Kate  spoke  in  a  fretful,  querulous  voice. 


THE    TWO    HO  MRS.  25 

"  Making  trouble  between  her  brothers,  as  I  have 
just  said,"  was  replied.  "I  don't  believe  the  boys 
would  disagree  half  as  often  as  they  do  if  she  would 
let  them  alone." 

A^itbout  gaining  any  clearer  comprehension  of 
the  matter  than  was  afforded  by  this  general  charge 
against  the  young  culprit,  Mrs.  Eldridge,  in  a  fever 
of  passion,  sprang  toward  Katy,  and  inflicted  upon 
her  a  dozen  severe  blows  on  the  back  and  about 
the  head.  The  child,  as  soon  as  she  could  escape 
from  her  mother's  hands,  fled  screaming  from  the 
room. 

"  That  kind  of  work  doed  more  harm  than  good," 
said  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"What  kind  of  work,  pray?"  A  crimson  tide 
had  rushed  to  the  face  of  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"Punishment  inflicted  in  anger  always  does  harm." 

"Then  you  are  even  more  to  blame  than  I  am," 
said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  sharply ;  "  for  you  dragged  the 
child  here  in  a  towering  passion,  charging  her 
vaguely  with  some  monstrous  crime  and  requiring 
punishment  at  my  hands.  Next  time,  if  you  sec 
Tny  thing  wrong,  make  your  own  corrections." 

Mr.  Eldridge  had  no  taste  for  domestic  conflicts, 
and  always  retired  from  strife  the  moment  a  sign  of 
war  appeared.  On  the  present  occasion  he  felt  rui 
inclination  to  act  differently.  Without  offering  a 
word  in  reply,  he  turned  away  from  his  excited  com- 
pan  ton  and  retired  to  his  office.  He  had  not  "KMW 
thete  long  before  the  jar  of  discordant  voices  re  uohed 
his  ears.  His  two  sons  were  at  strife  again.  *n 

8 


26  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

scarcely  a  better  state  of  mind  than  his  wif<>  for 
meeting  a  trouble  of  this  character,  Mr.  Eldri  I go 
hurried  into  the  garden,  from  which  earne  the  angry 
words.  J&cob  and  William  were  disputing  ammi  a 
knife.  Ere  the  father  reached  the  scene  of  corilen 
tion,  Katy  was  on  the  ground,  and  had  taken  tho 
side  of  Jacob. 

"  It's  Jacob's  knife  !  I  know  it  is  !  Give  Jacob 
his  knife!"  she  was  exclaiming. 

"It  isn't  Jacob's  knife!  It's  mine!"  replied 
William. 

"  I  know  better !  It's  Jacob's  knife  !  Give  it  to 
him,  this  minute  !"  And  the  little  eirl  was  already 
Struggling  with  William  for  possession  of  the  knife, 
that  she  might  give  it  to  her  elder  brother. 

"Kate!"  Her  father's  stern  voice  startled  .the 
child,  and  she  retreated  a  few  paces. 

"  Go  into  the  house." 

Katy  looked  frightened,  and  obeyed  instantly. 

"  Have  you  got  Jacob's  knife  ?"  now  inquired  Mr. 
Eldridge,  assuming  a  calmness  that  he  did  not  feel 
He  spoke  to  William. 

"No,  sir.  It's  my  own  knife,"  was  firmly  an« 
ewered. 

"I  think  it's  my  knife,"  said  Jacob. 

"You  think!"     Mr.  Eldridge  frowned. 

"If  he'll  just  let  me  look  at  it,  I  can  tell  in  a 
minute." 

"I  toid  him  it  wasn't  his  knife,"  spoke  up  Wil 
liam  ;  "  but  he  wouldn't  believe  me.  I  knovs  my 
own  knife." 


THE   TWO    HOMES.  27 

''But  why  didn't  you  let  him  look  at  it?  AL 
tl  ts  trouble  would  then  have  been  avoided." 

"  Beer  use  I  was  afraid  he  would  snatch  it  out  of 
OB/  hand." 

"Ah,  boys!  boys!"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  "this  is  a 
sad  state  of  things !  Let  me  see  the  knife,  "William." 

William  handed  the  knife  to  his  father,  who 
reached  it  toward  Jacob,  with  the  inquiry, — 

"Does  that  belong  to  you?" 

Jacob  examined  the  knife  for  a  moment,  and  then 
answered, — 

"  No,  sir;  it  isn't  mine.     But  I  thought  it  was." 

"  Only  thought  it  was,  yet  claimed  it  for  your  own, 
and  quarrelled  with  your  brother  because  he  \vould 
not  relinquish  to  you  what  was  really  his  own ! 
Jacob,  conduct  like  this  deserves  punishment,  and 
more  particularly  so,  coming  as  it  does  upon  your 
recent  outrage  upon  William  in  taking  the  pear." 

"Katy  gave  me  the  pear,"  said  Jacob,  in  feeble 
justification  of  his  conduct.  "If  she  hadn't  taken 
it  from  William,  I — I " 

He  stammered,  and  broke  down  in  his  speech. 

"Your  fault  in  that  instance  is  not  to  be  excused 
on  any  plea,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge.  "I  regard  you  as 
most  to  blame ;  for  you  are  the  oldest,  and  should 
have  reproved  Katy  for  her  wrong-doing  instead  of 
becoming  a  party  thereto." 

A  look  of  triumph  lit  up  the  countenance  of  Wil 
liam.  Mr.  Eldridge  saw  this  and  his  own  error  at 
the  same  time ;  for,  in  reproving  Jacob  in  the  pre 
sence  of  William,  he  had  widened  the  breach  be- 


28  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

tween  them,  instead  of  reconciling  them  to  each 
other, 

For  some  moments  he  stood  in  silent  perplexity, 
not  knowing  what  it  was  best  to  say  or  do. 

"Let  me  hear  no  more  of  this  wrangling,"  he  at 
length  remarked,  partly  turning  away  as  he  spoke. 
"  If  you  cannot  live  like  brothers,  you  will  have  to 
be  separated." 

Mr.  Eldridge  walked  back  into  the  house,  and  sat 
down  in  his  office,  in  a  fretted  state  of  mind.  lie 
was  a  lover  of  quiet,  harmony,  and  order;  but,  as 
the  years  progressed,  he  seemed  to  recede  further 
and  further  from  his  ideal  of  home-felicity.  Govern 
ment  in  the  family,  truly  so,  there  was  none;  and,  if 
he  attempted  to  rule  matters  independent  of  his 
wife,  affairs  were  made  worse  instead  of  better. 
With  painful  solicitude  he  had  seen  the  growing 
spirit  of  discord  among  his  children,  and  particularly 
the  evil  influence  which  Katy  exercised  over  her 
brothers.  He  had  tried  in  various  ways  to  correct 
this  very  bad  fault,  but  with  no  apparent  success. 
Punishment,  so  far  as  Katy  was  concerned,  he  had 
left  with  his  wife ;  but  she  only  punished  in  anger, 
and  no  good  results  followed.  Sometimes  he  ven 
tured  to  suggest  a  change  in  the  manner  of  his  wife's 
home-administration  ;  but  whenever  he 'did  this  her 
sensitive  pride  was  aroused,  and  he  was  glad  to  take 
"efuge  in  silence  under  the  storm  of  vvorda  thai 

most  surely  followed. 


STRIFE.  21 

CHAPTER  in. 

STRIFE. 

the  exception  of  a  few  captious  or  ill 
tibt  ired  words  among  themselves,  no  further  wrong- 
hi'£  between  the  children  of  Mr.  Eldridge  took 
place  during  the  evening.  The  tea-table  was,  as 
usual,  a  scene  of  disorder, — William,  Jacob,  and 
Katy  acting  more  like  hungry  animals  than  well- 
bred  human  beings.  Mrs.  Eldridge  scolded  and 
threatened,  and  Mr.  Eldridge  spoke  sharply  severa 
times,  but  with  only  temporary  eft'ect.  The  Babe 
of  voices  was  hushed  for  a  brief  season,  and  thei 
went  on  again  with  an  increased  confusion  oi 
tongues.  In  the  midst  of  this  annoying  discord 
Mr.  Eldridge  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table 
Baying  fretfully,  as  he  did  so, — 

"I  can't  stand  this  any  longer!  I'd  rather  go 
without  rny  meals  than  eat  them  in  such  a  bedlam 
of  a  place !" 

And  he  left  the  room  in  anger. 

Mrs.  Eldridge,  startled  by  this  unexpected  m  }ve- 
ment  on  the  part  of  her  husband,  poured  out  upon 
the  hoad«  of  her  half-frightened  children  sundry 
viuls  of  \vr?ik4i,  and  ended  by  ordering  them  all  ofi 
to  bed.  Bl  e  was  angry,  and  in  earnest,  and  the 
reluctant  yo  ing  rebels  were  not  able  to  escape  this 
punishment;  though,  in  submitting  to  it,  they  foiled 

a* 


80  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

not  to  show  the  largest  permissible  degree  ot  opp<v 
sition  and  give  every  kind  of  trouble  within  their 
] tower,  short  of  provoking  chastisement. 

Mr.  Eld  ridge  had  retired  to  his  office,  where,  for 
uearh  an  hour,  he  sat  brooding  over  the  unhappy 
Condition  of  affairs  at  home,  and  trying  to  work  out 
some  scheme  of  amelioration.  Past  experience  gave 
him  little  hope.  No  change  in  home-government 
could  take  place  without  the  earnest  and  cheerful  co 
operation  of  his  wife ;  and  heretofore,  whenever  he  had 
made  an  effort  to  converse  with  her  on  the  subject,  she 
had  mif  understood  him,  and  imagined  that  he  was 
blaming  her,  when  he  was  only  trying  to  lift  her 
thoughts  upward  into  a  clearer  perception  of  duty. 

"I  am  almost  discouraged,"  he  murmured,  as  he 
started  from  his  chair  and  commenced  pacing  the 
floor.  "Things  are  getting  worse,  instead  of  better. 
All  progression  is  in  the  wrong  direction,  and  I 
shudder  when  I  look  to  the  end.  Oh !  if  Harriet 
could  only  see  as  I  do  !  If  she  would  only  work  as 
earnestly  in  her  sphere  of  duty  as  I  have  to  work  in 
mine!  If  she  would  only  take  counsel  with  me!" 

At  last,  the  whole  subject  having  acquired, 
through  earnest  thought  thereon,  a  new  importance 
in  his  mind,  Mr.  Eldridge  resolved  to  have  a  se 
rious  talk  with  his  wife  about  their  home-relations, 
and  endeavor  to  effect,  if  possible,  some  change  for 
the  better.  So,  calming  down  his  feelings,  and 
assuming  as  cheerful  an  aspect  as  possible,  he  went 
to  the  sitting-room,  where  he  found  her  reading. 
She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  over  the  top  of 


STRIFE.  1 

her  book,  and  then  bent  her  eyes  again  upon  the 
page  before  her.  There  was  little  of  promise  in 
the  expression  of  her  countenance  as  she  glanced 
at  her  husband. 

Mr.  Eldridge  sat  down  near  the  lamp,  and, 
taking  up  a  magazine  that  lay  upon  the  table, 
opened  it,  and  pretended  to  read.  But  not  a 
thought  was  stirred  in  his  mind  by  any  words  that 
were  printed  upon  the  page.  At  last,  speaking  with 
a  hesitation  of  manner  and  a  huskiness  of  voice  that 
betrayed  a  great  deal  more  of  feeling  than  he 
wished  to  exhibit,  he  said, — 

"  These  children  trouble  me  a  great  deal,  Har 
riet." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  let  her  book  fall  into  her  lap,  and 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  husband's  countenance. 
There  was  a  slight  contraction  of  her  brows,  as  if 
she  felt  the  approach  of  something  unpleasant. 

"They  grow  worse  instead  of  better,"  continued 
Mr.  Eldridge.  "But  this  ought  not  to  be,  and 
shows  that  something  is  wrong  in  our  management. 
We  ought  to  be  able  to  repress  the  evil  in  them 
and  bring  out  what  is  good.  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Mr.  Eldridge  softened  his  voice,  with  the  hope 
of  soothing  any  disturbance  of  feeling  which  his 
introduction  of  the  subject  might  occasion. 

"I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,"  replied  Mrs. 
Eldridge,  with  singular  perverseness ;  and  then, 
raising  the  book,  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  it,  as  if 
she  were  too  much  interested  therein  to  care  about 
any  other  subject. 


82  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO  ? 

"Harriet,"  (the  voice  of  Mr.  Eldridge  became 
firm  at  once,)  "this  is  trilling  in  a  matter  of  solemn 
import.  For  once  meet  me  in  sober  confereuce, 
and  let  us  try  and  help  one  another  to  a  clearer  per 
ception  of  duty." 

"For  once!  Humph!  You  are  complimentary, 
Mr.  Eldridge  !"  The  lips  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  slightly 
curled. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Harriet."  said  Mr.  Eldridge, 
"don't  talk  in  this  way,  when  I  ask  to  converse 
with  you  on  a  subject  of  vital  import.  Our  own 
and  the  happiness  of  our  children  are  at  stake. 
Surely,  this  is  enough  to  render  us  grave  and 
thoughtful !" 

"  I'm  all  attention.  Say  on."  With  something 
cold,  almost  haughty,  in  her  manner,  Mrs.  Eldridge 
closed  the  book  she  was  reading,  and,  leaning  back 
in  her  chair,  looked  fixedly  at  her  husband. 

"  Will  you  talk  with  me  calmly  on  the  subject  of 
our  children,  Harriet?"  asked  her  husband. 

"  Certainly — certainly  !  Say  on."  But  there  waa 
nothing  of  kindness,  or  even  modified  feeling,  in 
her  tones. 

"  We   ought  to  find  some  means  of  repressing 
their  evil   tempers,"    said    Mr.  Eldridge.      "  TheT 
wrangle  together,  it  seems  to  me,  all  the  time, 
is  dreadful  to  think  of  brothers  and  sisters  grown^ 
up  at  variance  with  one  another." 

"  I'm  sure  I've  done  all  that  I  can  do,"  replied 
Mrs.  Eldridge.  "And  I'm  certain  that  it  doesn't 
worry  you  any  more  than  it  does  me !" 


STRIFE.  83 

14  Couldn't  you  watch  Katy  a  little  more  closely  . 
1  think  she  makes  half  the  trouhle  between  the 
boys." 

'•  Oh !  you  needn't  throw  all  the  blame  on  Katy !" 
said  Mrs.  Eldridge.  "  I  guess  the  others  are  about 
R3  bad.  The  fact  of  the  business  is,  Mr.  Eldridge, 
yoa  magnify  every  thing  that  child  does,  until  it 
looks  ten  times  as  large  as  it  really  is.  I  don't 
near  you  speak  a  kind  word  to  her,  week  in  and 
week  out.  That  is  no  way  to  treat  a  child  of  her 
age.  If  you  don't  try  to  awaken  gentle  feelings 
in  her,  how  can  you  expect  them  to  exist?" 

Mr.  Eldridge  bowed  his  head,  and  remained  silent 
for  several  minutes.  He  felt  the  case  to  be  hope 
less.  Either  he  had  approached  his  wife  on  the 
subject  in  a  wrong  way,  or  she  was  incorrigibly 
perverse.  "While  he  yet  brooded  over  the  subject, 
Mrs.  Eldridge  said, — 

"  Of  course,  I'm  to  blame  for  every  thing  that 
goes  wrong,  as  if  the  children  were  not  as  much 
yours  as  mine,  and  as  if  you  were  not  as  fully 
responsible  as  I  am  for  their  conduct.  The  fact 
of  the  business  is,  Mr.  Eldridge,  you  don't  pay  any 
attention  to  them,  but  go  out  and  come  in  for  days 
without  even  speaking  to  them,  except  to  find  some 
fault,  half  of  your  time  looking  as  sour  as  vinegar. 
(.Jo  to  work  yourself  to  get  things  right,  and  don't 
expect  impossibilities  of  me!" 

The  lines  which  had  gathered  on  the  brows  of 
Mr.  Eldridge  grew  deeper,  and  the  veins  swelled 
into  visible  cords.  He  felt  the  case  to  be  hopeless. 


t>4  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"  Say  no  more,  if  you  please,  Harriet,"  lie  re 
marked,  with  forced  calmness.  "We  will  change 
tie  subject." 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  retorted  his  wife,  in  a  taunting  voiro  ; 
"when  the  shoe  begins  to  pinch  your  3wn  foot  y  >'j 
are  very  ready  to  cast  it  off.  Do  your  own  duty  \n 
the  children,  and  you  will  not  see  so  much  to  fin-.l 
feult  with  in  my  conduct !" 

"I  found  no  fault  with  you,  Harriet,"  said  Mr. 
Eldridge,  still  repressing  his  feelings. 

"You  didn't,  indeed?" 

"I  only  asked  to  talk  over  with  you  the  state  of 
our  home-affairs,  with  a  view  to  some  salutary 
change." 

"  Didn't  you  commence  by  blaming  me  for  not 
taking  the  side  of  the  boys  against  Katy  ?" 

"  No.  All  I  said  about  her  was  to  inquire  if  you 
couldn't  watch  her  a  little  more  closely  and  pre 
vent  her  from  stirring  up  strife  so  often  between 
William  and  Jacob." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  she's  to  bear  the  brunt  of  every  thing, 
of  course !"  Wounded  pride  had  obscured  all  the 
true  perceptions  of  Mrs.  Eldridge's  mind.  "And 
BO  it  has  been  from  the  beginning.  She  never  doea 
any  thing  right  in  your  eyes.  But  I  can  just  fell 
you,  Mr.  Eldridge,  that  Katy  is  quite  as  good  as  ih» 
boys  are." 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  a  man  of  even  temper  and  a 
great  deal  of  self-control.  Reason  and  inclination, 
as  well  as  professional  experience,  had  made  him 
averse  to  contention,  as  usually  resulting  in  greater 


STRIFE.  35 

loss  than  gain  Now  he  felt  a  strong  impulse 
to  retort  with  vehemence  and  asperity ;  and  sharp 
words  trembled  on  his  lips  for  utterance.  But, 
with  an  effort,  he  so  far  calmed  the  agitation  he 
felt  as  to  hide  it  from  view,  bridling  his  rest'rre 
tongue  and  sealing  his  lips. 

A  short  time  Mrs  Eldridge  sat  awaiting  some 
further  remark  from  her  husband;  but,  as  he 
showed  no  disposition  to  continue  the  conversa 
tion,  she  lifted  her  book  before  her  face,  and 
resumed  the  occupation  which  his  entrance  had 
suspended. 

Troubled,  fretted,  and  unhappy,  Mr.  Eldridge 
remained  in  the  room  for  only  a  short  period,  and 
then  went  out.  His  wife  dropped  her  book  in  her 
lap,  as  he  left  the  apartment,  and  listened  with  a 
new  manifestation  of  interest  to  the  sound  of  hia 
retreating  feet.  From  the  sitting-room  he  went  to 
his  office.  There  he  could  be  heard  moving  about 
for  several  minutes,  and  then  all  was  silent.  Mrs. 
Eldridge  had  raised  her  book  from  her  lap,  and 
was  running  her  eyes  over  the  open  page,  when  the 
shutting  of  the  office-door  caused  her  to  look  up 
again  and  listen.  A  shade  of  anxiety  was  visible 
on  her  countenance.  Mr.  Eldridge  moved  along 
the  passage  and  went  out  by  the  street  door.  A 
sigh  quivered  the  lips  of  his  wife,  and  for  many 
minutes  she  sat  in  statue-like  stillness.  Another 
and  deeper  sigh  marked  the  breaking  of  her  reve 
rie,  when  the  reading  of  her  book  was  resumed 


86  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

But  tid  interest  in  its  pages  was  gone.  In  vain  she 
tried  to  lose  herself  in  the  history  of  another  life. 
Self-consciousness  was  attended  with  too  much 
luftering  for  this. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   GOSSIPING   NEIGHBOR. 

MKS  ELDRIDGE'S  mind  was  still  in  a  confused 
Btate,  \*hen  the  bell  announced  a  visitor.  She  lis 
tened,  while  the  servant  passed  to  the  door,  with  a 
feeling  of  expectation. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Eldridge  at  home  ?"  It  was  a  clear, 
familiar,  ringing  voice,  the  tones  of  which  fell 
pleasantly  on  the  lady's  ears.  Light  feet  tripped 
along  the  passage ;  the  door  of  the  room  was  swung 
open,  and  the  visitor  entered. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Weakly !  Good-evening ! 
How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !" 

"Good-evening!  good-evening!"  returned  the 
lady,  her  face  glowing  with  smiles,  as  she  caught 
the  extended  hand  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  and  saluted 
her  with  a  kiss. 

"I'm  glad  you've  dropped  in,"  said  the  latter; 
"for  I  feel  too  dull  to  he  alone." 

"Dull  ?"  Mrs.  Weakly  looked  earnestly  into  the 
face  of  her  friend  ""What  is  there  to  make  you  feel 
dull?" 


A   GOSSIPING   NEIGHBOR.  37 

"A  thousand  things,"  was  replied. 

"Ah,  my  friend,  you  must  learn  to  take  the 
vorld  easy,  as  I  do." 

"You  are  never  dull?" 

"Never!" 

"  Then  you  are  a  fortunate  woman,  and  must 
have  a  husband  of  easier  temper  than  I  am  blessed 
with." 

"  Oho !  It's  the  husband,  is  it,  my  pretty  little 
friend  ?"  said  Mrs.  Weakly,  in  an  airy  tone.  "  That 
will  never  do.  These  husbands  are  terribly  exacting 
and  unreasonable  sometimes;  but  most  of  them  are 
susceptible  of  management.  A  few  are  incorrigible 
tyrants ;  but  a  woman  of  spirit  knows  how  to  deal 
with  such.  Your  lord  and  master,  however,  does 
not  belong  to  this  latter  class  ?" 

"  Oh,  no.  Mr.  Eldridge  is  not  a  domestic  tyrant. 
If  he  were,  he'd  not  find  the  task  of  lording  it  over 
me  an  easy  one.  The  trouble  is,  he  expects  me  to 
make  home  a  kind  of  paradise,  and  a  parcel  of  unre- 
gen  crate  cubs  of  children  as  gentle  and  harmonious 
as  lambs." 

"Oh,  dear!"  And  Mrs.  Weakly  laughed  a  merry 
ittle  laugh,  that  seemed  to  come  from  away  down 
in  her  throat. 

"  But  I'm  thinking  they're  no  worse  than  we  were 
when  of  their  ages.  I  know  that  I  was  a  torn-down 
little  imp — at  least  they  say  so;  and  I  rather  think 
I'm  not  so  very  much  behind  other  people  at  my 
time  of  life." 

"  i^To,  I  shouldn't   think  you  were,"   said   Mrs. 
4 


?8  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

Weakly,  in  a  voice  that,  to  some  ears,  would  have 
Bounded  not  a  little  equivocal,  though  Mrs.  Eldridge 
perceived  in  it  only  a  compliment.  "As  for  Weakly," 
continued  the  visitor,  referring;  now  to  her  own  hus 
band,  "he  and  I  have  no  disagreements.  Things 
did  go  on  a  little  rough  at  first,  but  I  soon  made  him 
understand  that  I  knew  my  position  and  should 
maintain  it  at  all  hazards.  Ha!  ha!" — the  little 
laugh,  away  down  in  her  throat,  came  with  a  new 
sound  to  the  ears  of  Mrs.  Eldridge, — "ha!  ha!  I 
can  remember,  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  our  first 
quarrel :  I  call  it  a  quarrel.  We  had  been  married 
then  only  three  weeks.  Weakly  was  very  loving, 
very  fussy,  and  very  busy  in  our  new  home, — giving 
orders  here  and  there,  as  if  I  were  a  mere  slip  of  a 
girl,  that  didn't' know  a  broom-handle  from  a  frying- 
pan.  Well,  I  looked  on,  half  amused  and  half 
angry,  waiting  to  see  how  far  he  would  go.  From 
the  beginning  he  had  undertaken  to  do  the  market 
ing,  and  he  delivered  his  basket  and  his  orders  to 
the  cook  with  as  much  coolness  as  if  I  were  in  the 
moon  instead  of  in  the  house. 

"Well,  one  day  Weakly  brought  in  a  pair  of 
chickens,  and  said,  as  he  handed  them  to  the  cook, — 

"  '•'Now.  Jane,  we'll  have  a  fricassee  of  these ;  and 
here  are  a  few  nice  pippins  in  the  basket.  I  got 
them  for  apple-dumplings.  Don't  forget  them;  and 
Bee  here,  Jane;  let  them  be  made  with  potato-crust.' 

"  '  That  will  do,'  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  turned  off 
and  went  up-stairs,  vexed  half  to  crying  at  this 
treatment  of  me,  as  if  I  were  nobody, — "  that  will  do, 


A   GOSSIPING    NEIGHBOR.  89 

Mr.  John  Weakly;  but  if  you  see  any  fricasseed 
chicken  or  apple-dumpling  with  potato-crust  to-day, 
iriy  name  isn't  Martha  Mary !' 

'•  So,  about  an  hour  after  he  had  left  the  house,  I 
called  down  to  Jane.  She  came  up-stairs,  and  I 
3ald, — 

" '  Jane,  isn't  there  enough  of  that  meat  we  had 
yesterday,  left  over,  to  make  out  a  dinner  to-day?" 

" '  Mr.  Weakly  said  we  were  to  have  fricasseed- 
chicken,'  replied  Jane,  looking  at  me  with  surprise. 

" '  Did  you  understand  what  I  said  ?'  I  spoke 
with  some  sternness  of  manner,  and  with  a  glance 
and  tone  that  seemed  to  frighten  the  girl. 

"  'Ye — yes,  ma'am,'  she  stammered." 

"'Very  well:  answer  me,  then.  Is  there  enough 
cold  meat  left  over  for  dinner  to-day  ?' 

" '  Yes,  ma'am.' 

"  '  Then  chop  it  up  fine,  and  make  a  hash  of  it. 
Do  you  know  how  to  make  a  good  hash  ?' 

"  The  girl  said  she  could  try,  and  left  the  room 
with  a  bewildered  air.  In  a  little  while  she  came 
back,  and,  looking  at  me  doubtingly,  said, — 

" '  About  the  apple-dumplings,  ma'am ;  shall  I 
make  them  ?' 

" ' No,'  I  replied.  'You  needn't  make  any  apple- 
dumplings  to-day.  A  rice-pudding  will  answer. 
Have  you  eggs  and  milk?'  Jane  said  she  had  both, 
and  I  dismissed  her  with  my  finality. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  feel  altogether  comfortable,  as 
you  *nay  suppose;  only  three  weeks  a  bride,  and 
eetung  up  in  direct  opposition  to  the  will  of  my 


40  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

husband.  But  I  was  always  a  girl  of  spirit,  and, 
when  once  fairly  aroused,  never  yielded.  Weakly 
Wii-*  in  the  wrong;  that  was  clear:  and  I  meant  to 
k(vp  him  in  the  wrong.  He  had  made  the  mistake 
of  taking  it  for  granted  that  I  was  a  quiet  little  puss, 
who  would  yield  to  him  in  every  thing  and  let  him 
do  about  as  he  pleased.  The  longer  he  remained  in 
this  error,  the  more  he  would  confirm  himself  in  it; 
and  so,  all  things  considered,  I  was  sure  that  my 
course  was  right. 

"  It  must  be  owned  that  I  felt  a  little  nervous  as 
dinner-time  approached.  I  tried  my  best  to  summon 
before  me  an  image  of  his  true  personality,  in  order 
to  determine  what  amount  of  combative  power  he 
possessed,  and  to  form  therefrom  some  idea  of  the 
length  of  the  contest  about  to  begin.  But  I  could 
determine  nothing  satisfactorily. 

"  At  last  my  husband  arrived,  and  I  met  him  with 
my  usual  smiles,  though  my  manner  had  in  it  a  con 
straint  that  it  was  impossible  to  subdue.  Soon  after 
he  came  in,  the  dinner-bell  rung,  and  we  repaired  to 
the  breakfast-room  together. 

"'How's  this?'  he  exclaimed,  with  a  contracting 
brow,  as  he  lifted  the  cover  from  a  dish  of  smoking 
hash.  '  Where  are  those  chickens  ?' 

" '  We  had  meat  enough  over  from  yesterday,  and 
so  I  told  June  not  to  cook  them,'  I  replied,  as  evenly 
as  I  could  speak. 

"*  But  I  distinctly  told  h?r  to  make  a  fricassee,' 
said  my  husband,  contracting  his  brows  still  further, 


A   GOSSIPING    NEIGHBOR.  41 

anl  looking  at  me  in  a  way  that  I  did  not  regard  as 
particularly  amiable. 

"  '  And  I  distinctly  told  her  to  hash  up  the  cold 
meat  from  yesterday!'  I  replied,  calmly,  but  in  so 
resolute  a  voice  that  my  husband  fairly  started  at  the 
vords. 

'"You  knew  I  wanted  the  chickens,'  he  said, 
after  a  little  pause. 

"  '  You  did  not  tell  me  so,'  was  my  prompt  answer. 

"  '  You  were  standing  by  when  I  told  Jane  to  cook 
them,'  said  he. 

"'Perhaps,'  I  replied,  'if  you  had  signified  youi 
wishes  to  me,  instead  of  to  my  cook,  they  would 
have  been  complied  with.' 

"  I  think  some  light  broke  into  the  good  man's 
mind,  and  with  a  suddenness  that  partially  blinded 
him.  He  looked  at  me  very  earnestly  for  the  space 
of  half  a  minute,  and  then,  without  a  word  more, 
helped  me  to  some  of  the  hash,  and  went  to  eating 
his  own  dinner.  Neither  of  us,  it  must  be  confessed, 
partook  with  an  over-keen  relish.  When  the  dessert 
of  rice-pudding  came  on,  instead  of  the  apple- 
dumplings  with  potato-crust,  not  a  word  was  said. 
Weakly  ate  about  half  of  what  I  gave  him,  and  then, 
pushing  back  his  chair,  left  the  table.  He  was  rather 
sober  for  a  week,  but  never  again  ventured  to  give 
cook  an  order  about  dinner  or  any  thing  else.  Sober 
for  a  week !  I  might  say  for  a  month :  indeed,  J 
think  he's  never  got  over  being  ashamed  of  himselt 
to  this  day.  I  lost  a  good  share  of  petting,  and  that 
kind  of  loving  nonsense,  no  doubt,  but  succeeded 

4* 


42  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

in  making  Weakly  understand  clearly  the  stuff  that 
was  in  his  wife.  He's  never  trespassed  on  my 
ground  evince,  and  so  we  get  on  as  smoothly  as  Darby 
and  Joan." 

Mrs.  Weakly  laughed  merrily  as  she  concluded, 
adding,  as  she  did  so, — 

"  There's  nothing  like  a  fair  understanding  at  the 
beginning  of  all  copartnerships.  It  prevents  a  deal 
of  trouble  afterward." 

"Not  many  husbands  would  have  submitted  so 
easily,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"  I  don't  know.  Men  are  pretty  hard  subjects  in 
the  main;  but  a  resolute  woman  is,  nine  cases  in 
ten,  a  match  for  the  hardest.  We  have  a  stronger 
self-will  and  more  endurance,  and,  therefore,  can 
hold  out  longer.  A  man,  after  a  certain  period  of 
opposition,  grows  weary ;  but  a  woman's  spirit  nevei 
tires.  Do  you  understand  that?" 

"  I  think  your  meaning  is  clear." 

"Trouble  with  your  husband,  say  you?"  Mrs. 
Weakly  spoke  half  lightly,  half  seriously.  "I'm 
afraid  you  permitted  him  to  get  the  upper  hand  in 
the  beginning.  Husbands  are  rarely  troublesome 
unless  this  have  occurred." 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is,  hut  there's  something 
wrong."  The  tone  in  which  Mrs.  Eldridge  said  this 
showed  that  her  mind  was  not  very  clear  on  the  sub 
ject  of  her  relation  to  her  husband. 

"  Ah — that  '  something  wrong !'  How  many  thou 
sands  of  unhappy  women  sigh  out  those  words  in 
weakness  and  discouragement!  How  many  thou 


A    GOSSIPING   NEIGHBOR.  45 

sands  faint  and  fall  by  the  way,  unable  to  bear  the 
chain  that  holds  them,  fast  in  a  cruel  bondage.  Men 
are  strong,  physically,  and  their  position  involves 
the  temptation  to  exercise  power.  Few  are  prooi 
against  this  temptation.  Ah,  my  friend,  if  the  annals 
of  domestic  tyranny  could  be  written  and  published 
to  the  world,  stern  hearts  would  melt  and  ruddy 
cheeks  paie  at  the  fearful  history." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  catching  the 
spirit  of  her  friend. 

"And  yet,"  continued  Mrs.  Weakly,  "woman  ia 
really  stronger  than  man,  and,  if  she  but  willed  to 
do  it,  could  bend  him  like  a  reed.  I  wish  all  wives 
had  my  spirit." 

"I  wish  they  had,"  replied  Mrs.  Eldridge ;  "for 
the  whole  community  of  men  need  to  be  taught  a 
few  wholesome  lessons." 

"Indeed  they  do !  Well,  I've  done  my  part;  and 
I'm  very  sure  Weakly  is  a  happier  man  for  it.  No 
one  grows  any  better  for  indulgence  in  arbitrary 
rule.  We  both  do  pretty  much  as  we  please,  and 
go  out  and  come  in  when  we  please.  I  never  per 
mit  myself  to  be  a  cl^  ^pon  his  movements,  and  he 
shows  no  dispose  j\±  to  become  a  clog  upon  mine. 
1  like  company,  and  so  does  he;  but  our  appreciation 
of'  qualities  is  different.  I  don't  always  fancy  his 
finends,  nor  does  he  always  fancy  mine.  The  fact 
is.  our  union  is  now  rightly  based  on  the  rock  of 
common  sense,  and  not  on  the  seething  furnace  of 
what  people  call  love,  the  vapors  from  which  are  ever 
and  anon  blinding  and  scorching.  I  know  some 


44  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

wives  who  are  as  'fraid  as  death  of  their  husbands, 
and  will  give  up  the  dearest  friendships  merely  to 
gratify  their  whims.  It  wouldn't  do  for  Weakly  to 
try  that  experiment  with  me.  I'm  old  enough,  wise 
enough,  and  independent  enough,  to  choose  my  own 
riends ;  have  always  done  so,  and  will  continue  to 
do  so  unto  the  end." 

These  remarks  brought  to  the  remembrance  of 
Mrs.  Eldridge  a  troubled  passage  in  her  own  history, 
She  had  formed  a  pleasant  acquaintance  with  a  lady 
in  the  village,  against  whom  her  husband  entertained 
a  strong  prejudice, — so  strong  that  he  objected  to  his 
wife's  visiting  her.  The  circumstance  caused  a  good 
deal  of  unhappiness  at  the  time,  and  was  never  re 
called  without  uncomfortable  feelings. 

"Some  husbands  are  very  unreasonable  on  tho 
subject  of  their  wives'  friendships,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Eldridge  is  not  an  exception  to  the  rule.  It's  his 
fault,  entirely,  that  a  coolness  exists  between  me 
and  Mrs.  Glendy." 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  Mrs.  Weakly  spoke  with  animation. 
"Mrs.  Glendy  was  talking  to  me  only  yesterday 
about  you.  She  says  that  from  some  cause  you 
have  ceased  to  visit  her ;  though  of  the  reason  she 
is  entirely  ignorant,  never  having  done  or  said  any 
thing  against  you,  but,  on  the  contrary,  having 
always  spoken  in  your  praise.  'The  fact  is,  Mrs. 
Weakly,'  said  she,  'I  always  liked  Mrs.  Eldridgo, 
and  always  shall  like  her.' ' 

"And  I  always  did  like  and  always  shall  like 


A   GOSSIPPING    NEIGHBOR.  46 

her."  replied  Mrs.  Eldridge.      "Nothing  separates 
us  but  a  whim  of  my  husband's." 

"  Whim  !  Humph  !  It  wouldn't  do  for  "Weakly  to 
try  any  ot  iris  whims  upon  me.  But  what,  in  the 
name  of  wonder,  has  lie  to  say  against  the  woman?" 

"lie's  heard  something  to  her  discredit,  I  be 
lieve." 

"What?" 
•  "  Oh,  well,  I  can't  just  repeat  what  was  said." 

" Nothing  against  her  character?"  Mrs.  Weakly 
bent  over  in  a  confidential  way  toward  Mrs.  Eldridge, 
and  spoke  in  an  insinuating  voice. 

"  No,  nothing  special :  only " 

"Only  what?  Don't  be  afraid  to  speak  out 
plainly;  I  will  regard  all  you  say  as  strictly  con 
fidential." 

"Well,  the  truth  is,  some  people  in  the  village  do 
talk  a  little  freely  about  her;  though  I  never  be 
lieved  a  word  that  was  said." 

"What  do  they  say?" 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know  how  people  will  talk  some 
times.  Mrs.  Glendy  is  a  pleasant,  cheerful,  com 
panionable  woman,  who  keeps  a  good  deal  of  com 
pany,  and  lays  herself  liable  to  misjudgment  from  a 
certain  class  of  prudish  persons." 

"Yes,  I  understand.  But  to  the  pure  all  things 
are  pure.  Envious  people  are  sadly  given  to  slander 
ing  their  neighbors,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and  we  have 
some  of  the  envious  in  Arden.  Their  spite  would 
be  harmless  if  there  was  not  such  a  readiness  in  the 
human  mind  to  believe  in  evil  reports.  I  believ<> 


46  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO  ? 

Mrs.  Glendy  to  be  as  good  as  the  best  in  this  neigh, 
borhood;  and  I'm  very  sorry  your  husband's  foolish 
prejudice  should  btep  in  between  you  and  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  women  in  our  town,  who  regrets  the 
alienation  and  sincerely  desires  a  restoration  of 
friendly  intercourse." 

"It's  very  unreasonable  in  Mr.  Eldridge,"  was  re 
marked,  with  considerable  warmth. 

"Downright  tyranny  I  should  call  it,  were  it  my 
case,"  said  Mrs.  Weakly. 

"I  was  wrong,  perhaps,  ever  to  have  yielded  the 
point." 

"There  is  no  doubt  in  the  world  of  that,"  replied 
Mrs.  "Weakly.  "  It  was  a  mortal  blunder.  To  yield 
in  this  way  is  to  invite  aggression." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  sat  and  mused  for  some  time. 

"I  have  a  great  mind  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Glendy 
to-morrow,"  said  she,  with  some  manifestation  of 
spirit. 

"I'd  do  it,"  was  the  encouraging  response. 

"  I'm  just  vexed  enough  with  Mr.  Eldridge  to  feel 
reckless.  He's  been  encroaching  on  me  a  little  too 
nuch  of  late.  If  I  thought  there  was  the  slightest 
•ruth  in  the  rumors  about  Mrs.  Glendy,  I  would 
never  go  near  her;  but " 

"  Slander !  slander !  vile  slander !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Weakly,  with  unusual  animation.  "There  isn't  a 
word  of  truth  in  any  rumor  that  says  she  is  not  pure 
and  good.  And  isn't  it  cruel,  Mrs.  Eldridge,  to 
desert  a  right-minded  woman  because  evil  lips  in 
sinuate  evil  against  her?  We  should  all  make  com- 


A  GOSSIPING   NEIGHBOR.  4* 

^ 

moil  cause  with  the  unjustly  accused.  It  should  b«s 
the  glory  of  our  sex  to  sustain  a  slandered  sister, 
and  not  desert  her  in  the  hour  of  trial.  Who  knows 
*iow  soon  the  painful  experience  may  be  our  own  ? — • 
jbr  none  are  so  pure  that  suspicion  may  not  throw  a 
passing  stain  upon  our  garments." 

"  True ;  very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge ;  "  and  your 
words  oppress  me  with  self-condemnation.  I  have 
not  been  just  to  Mrs.  Glendy." 

"  The  best  can  only  make  reparation  for  error." 

"  Be  it  my  task  to  repair  this  error.  To-morrow 
morning  I  will  call  upon  Mrs.  Glendy." 

"Do  so,  by  all  means,"  urged  the  visitor.  "If 
you  do  not  wish  to  raise  a  breeze  with  your  husband, 
why,  say  nothing  to  him  about  it.  I,  for  one,  don't 
believe  in  wives  giving  their  husbands  a  minute 
history  of  all  they  say,  think,  or  do." 

"  Oh !  you  needn't  class  me  with  such  silly  wivea 
I  know  how  to  keep  my  own  counsel." 

In  conversation  of  a  like  tenor  the  two  ladies 
spent  a  couple  of  hours,  and  then  Mrs.  "Weakly  re 
turned  home,  taking  one  of  Mrs.  Eldridge's 
to  keep  her  company  by  the  way. 


4$  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 


CHAPTER  V. 

TEMPTATION. 

IT  was  after  ten  o'clock  when  Mrs.  "Weakly  re- 
turned  home.  For  nearly  half  an  hour  Mrs.  El- 
dridge  sat  with  her  thoughts  so  busy  in  the  new 
direction  they  had  taken  that  the  unusual  stay  of 
her  husband  was  not  remarked. 

"Ten  minutes  of  eleven!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
surprised  tone,  as  her  eyes  fell  accidentally  upon  the 
clock,  "and  Morgan  not  home  yet!  This  is  very 
unusual." 

And  Mrs.  Eldridge  arose  and  went  to  the  window. 
Raising  it,  she  looked  first  up  and  then  down  the 
broad  village  street,  along  which  the  white  houses 
shone  in  the  gilding  moonbeams.  The  quiet  beauty 
of  the  scene  wrought  an  almost'instant  change  upon 
her  feelings,  softening  their  tone  and  touching  them 
with  a  hue  of  sadness.  For  several  minutes  she 
looked  forth  expectantly,  but  no  living  form  was 
visible.  Feeling  a  chilliness  creeping  over  her,  she 
closed  the  window,  yet  still  remained  gazing  out 

"I  don't  like  this,"  she  murmured,  as  thought 
went  backward.  "I  wish  Morgan  would  corne 
home.  "What  can  keep  him  away  so  late?" 

When  Mr.  Eldridge  left  his  home  that  evening, 
fairly  driven  away  by  his  wife's  ungenial  spirit, — he 


TEMPTATION.  49 

was  a  home-loving  man,  and  rarely  went  out  after 
.li^iitfall,  except  forced  to  do  so  by  business  or 
political  engagements, — he  walked  slowly  down  the 
street,  sad  and  purposeless.  He  was  moving  along, 
with  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  when  an  arm  wan 
drawn  within  his,  and  a  familiar  voice  said, — 

"  Good-evening,  Eldridge  !     Which  way  ?" 

"  Just  taking  a  little  stroll  in  the  pleasant  moon 
light,"  was  answered. 

"Ah  !  I  didn't  suppose  there  was  any  romance  or 
poetry  left  in  you,  after  ten  years'  experience  as  a 
lawyer,"  remarked  the  other. 

"There  isn't  much  left,  I  can  assure  you,"  said 
Eldridge,  with  some  feeling.  "The  world  soon 
takes  all  the  nonsense  out  of  us." 

"  Indeed  it  does.  It  took  it  all  out  of  me  years 
ago,  and  I'm  now  as  cold  and  unromantic  as  an 
oyster.  There  was  a  time  when  I  enjoyed  a  moon 
light  evening  and  could  read  poetry  with  a  zest, 
but  that  time  is  long  since  passed.  I  don't  under 
stand  poetry  now;  and  moonlight  or  midnight  is  all 
she  same  to  me,  so  far  as  emotion  is  concerned.  The 
leart  gains  immobility  as  we  grow  older.  Is  not 
chis  so  in  all  cases?" 

"I  can  hardly  answer  'yes'  to  your  closing  query, 
Mr.  Craig,"  said  Eldridge.  "  Sometimes  I  have 
thought  that  my  heart  was  growing  stern  and  hard; 
Sut  suddenly  it  has  shown  itself  weak  almopt  to 
woman's  tenderness.  We  are  strange  beings !" 

"I  shouldn't  suspect  you  of  weakness,  Mr.  E3- 
dridge." 


60  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

"Nor  am  I  given  to  such  weakness.  -Contact 
with  the  vtorld  ices  over  the  heart,  but  does  no* 
nhvoys  'S\\]\  ;h0  central  impulses." 

By  this  time  the  two  men  were  at  the  lower  enn 
oi  the  town,  where  stood  the  tavern. 

"  Come  in  and  take  something  to  drink  with  me, 
aaid  the  companion  of  Eld  ridge. 

The  latter  made  no  objection,  but  entered  the 
tavern  and  joined  him  in  a  glass  of  liquor  at  the 
bar.  They  then  went  out  upon  the  porch,  and  took 
seats  at  some  distance  from  a  group  of  men  who 
were  discussing  politics.  Conversation  between 
them  was,  for  a  short  time,  made  up  of  the  ordinary 
commonplaces.  In  a  pause,  Craig  leaned  closer  to 
Mr.  Eldridge,  and  said,  in  a  confidential  way, — 

"I  expected  to  see  Judge  Gray  here  to-night." 

"Ah?     Isn't  he  about?" 

"No;  not  yet.  The  judge  and  I  have  been  talk 
ing  over  a  little  speculation."  And  Craig  spoke  in 
a  still  lower  voice.  "He's  here  almost  every  even 
ing,  and  I  thought  I  should  meet  him  to-night.  Ah  ! 
there  he  is  now!"  was  addend,  in  quickened  tone: 
and  he  arose  and  advanced  toward  a  man  just  enter 
ng  the  porch. 

The  two  greeted  each  other  familiarly,  stood  ami 
conversed  a  few  moments  in  an  undertone,  and 
then  came  forward  to  where  Eldridsre  was  sitting. 

"Good-evening,  Eldridge,"  said  the  judge,  in  ;t 
frank,  cordial  tone  of  voice.  "  Where  do  you  korp 
yourself  these  fine  evenings?  It's  really  a  treat  to 
get  one's  eyes  on  you  after  court-hours." 


TEMPTATION.  51 

"Oh,  I'm  one  of  your  home-bodies,"  returned 
Eldridge,  pleasantly,  as  he  took  the  judge's  hand. 
"Office-business  usually  occupies  all  my  spare  time 
out  of  court,  ai  1  when  night  comes  I  feel  more 
inclined  to  thoughtful  quiet  than  social  intercourse* 
It  is  a  fault  of  mine,  perhaps." 

"No  doubt  of  that,"  returned  Judge  Gray.  "No 
man  has  a  right  to  shut  himself  out  from  the  com. 
pany  of  his  friends.  At  least  four  evenings  out  of 
six  I  take  a  stroll  down  here,  to  have  a  cosy  chat 
with  some  one,  and  I'm  all  the  better  and  brighter 
for  it.  Our  own  thoughts,  if  left  too  much  to  them 
selves,  soon  run  thick  and  move  sluggishly.  Don't 
you  find  it  so,  Craig?" 

"I  have  found  it  so  in  times  past;  but  I  take  care 
nowadays  to  keep  the  channel  free.  Good  fellow 
ship  is  essential  to  the  mind's  healthy  action.  Home 
is  a  fine  institution.  Every  man  should  have  a  home ; 
but  there  is  something  for  us  to  do  and  enjoy  in 
the  world  outside  of  home.  A  man's  obligations  to 
his  family  are  high  and  sacred  duties,  and  should 
eve?  be  faithfully  discharged ;  but  their  observance 
will  not  absolve  him  from  social  duties.  His  friends 
have  claims  upon  him  as  well  as  his  family." 

"Truly  said,"  remarked  the  judge;  "and  I  trust 
our  friend  Eldridge  willuake  the  lesson  to  heart 
lie  needs  to  con  it  well." 

"I'm  not  unsocial,  by  any  means,"  said  Mr.  El 
dridge,  with  some  animation. 

"Not  by  nature,  I  will  admit,"  replied  Judge 


2  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

Gray; — "but  practically  you  are,  and  growing  more 
and  more  so  every  day." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  so  When,  pray,  have  we  seen  you  here, 
for  instance  ?  Not  for  a  month  !" 

"I've  been  here  within  that  time." 

"How  often,  pray?" 

"Once,  at  least." 

"  Once  !  For  shame,  Eldridge  !  I  would  have 
thrown  that  out  and  called  it  nothing.  Once  !  Why, 
I'm  here  at  least  four  times  a  week,  and  that's  none 
too  often." 

"  Too  often  for  me,"  said  Eldridge,  firmly.  "  Once 
or  twice  a  week  would  be  an  extreme  concession  to 
the  social  requirement." 

"  Very  well.  Have  it  your  own  way.  Give  us 
two  evenings  in  the  week,  and  we  will  be  thankful." 

"I  cannot  promise."  And  Eldridge  shook  his 
head,  laughing  at  the  same  time. 

"We  have  you  this  evening,  at  all  events,"  said 
the  judge.  "  Perhaps  we  can  interest  you  to  a  de 
gree  that  will  make  your  return  a  thing  of  course 
We  shall  see." 

"I'm  in  your  hands,"  was  the  light  response. 

"And  shall  be  well  cared  for.  Come;  let  us  go 
up  to  one  of  the  private  rooms.  I  have  a  basket  (  f 
choice  old  wine  in  the  landlord's  cellar,  set  apart  for 
my  particular  friends.  We'll  break  a  bottle." 

The  three  men  went  into  tho  house  and  up  to  the 
private  rooms  mentioned  by  Judge  Gray.  And 
there  we  will  leave  them. 


TEMPTATION.  51 

Eleven  o'clock  passed,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  etil 
a  watcher  for  her  absent  husband.  She  felt  troubled 
and  far  from  self-satisfied.  Conscience,  to  whos« 
small  voice  she  tried,  in  vain,  to  close  her  ears,  whia 
pered  in  them  rebuking  words,  and  charged  upor- 
her  uakindness. 

"What  can  keep  him  so  late?"  she  said  aloud,  in 
a  voice  that  would  have  betrayed  her  anxiety,  had 
there  been  a  listener  near.  As  she  thus  spoke,  she 
went  again  to  the  window  and  looked  earnestly  up 
and  down  the  moonlit  street.  She  was  about  turn 
ing  away,  after  standing  there  for  some  minutes, 
when  the  appearance  of  two  men  in  the  distance 
caused  her  heart  to  leap,  and  she  kept  her  place  at 
the  window,  with  her  eyes  riveted  upon  the  two 
figures,  which  advanced  along  the  street  very  slowly. 
At  last  they  were  near  enough  for  Mrs.  Eldridge  to 
distinguish,  in  one  of  them,  her  husband ;  but  the 
person  of  the  other  she  could  not  make  out.  The 
men  were  in  very  earnest  conversation,  and  passed 
the  house,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  without 
pausing.  A  little  beyond,  Mr.  Eldridge  stopped, — 
his  wife  could  see  him  distinctly  in  the  strong  moon 
light, — and  glanced  around  in  a  kind  of  bewildered 
manner,  as  if  he  had  lost,  in  mariners'  phrase,  hia 
"reckoning."  Comprehending,  in  a  little  while, 
that  he  had  gone  beyond  his  home,  he  turned,  and 
walked  back  until  opposite,  his  companion  return 
ing  with  him,  and  talking  all  the  while  earnestly. 

For  some  minutes  the  men  stood  on  the  pavement, 
u  full  view  of  Mrs.  Eldridge,  who  had  let  the  cur- 

6* 


54  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

tains  fall,  and  now  peered,  unobserved,  through  a 
small  opening  in  the  drapery.  They  still  talked 
with  animation,  the  companion  of  Eldridge  gesticu 
lating  with  considerable  violence.  Two  or  three 
times  the  latter  broke  away  and  made  an  attempt 
to  cross  the  street ;  but  the  other  adva»4*d  as  he  re 
treated,  even  grasping  his  arm  to  detain  him  while 
he  uttered  his  rapidly-spoken  sentences.  Then  El- 
diidge  would  speak  in  turn,  but  not  with  the  other's 
warmth. 

At  last  they  separated.  "When  half-way  across  the 
street,  Eldridge  stopped.  His  companion  had  turned 
back,  and  called  him  : — 

"Don't  forget  to-morrow  night!" 

"I'll  be  there,"  was  the  reply  of  Eldridge.  Both 
sentences  were  heard  by  his  wife. 

The  instant  Mrs.  Eldridge  saw  the  two  men  finally 
separate,  she  retired  from  the  window.  At  the  same 
moment  a  revulsion  in  her  feelings  began.  Anxiety 
gave  place  to  disapprobation  of  her  husband's  con 
duct  in  remaining  away  until  so  unusual  an  hour, 
and  self-reproaches  to  an  accusing  spirit.  When  he 
entered  the  room,  her  first  words,  spoken  in  a  tone 
;hat  could  not  fail  to  irritate,  were, — 

"Home  at  last,  are  you?  I  wonder  you  hadn't 
tayed  out  all  night !" 

"  I  might,  if  I  had  been  sure  of  no  better  reception 
;t  home." 

Tbere  was  an  unusual  sharpness  in  the  tones  of 
;ir.  Eldridge.  In  most  cases,  if  his  wife  spoke  with 
uikinduess  or  irritation,  he  maintained  a  perfect 


TEMPTATION.  56 

tilence,  and  thus  prevented  the  fires  of  discord  from 
blazing  out.  And  it  would  have  been  so  on  this 
occasion,  had  not  the  old  wine  of  Judge  Craig  been 
mingled  too  freely  with  his  blood,  obscuring  hia 
reason  and  firing  his  temper. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  There  was  something 
almost  imperious  in  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Eldridge,  as 
she  fixed  her  dark  eyes  upon  the  face  of  her  husband. 
The  latter  returned  the  glance  of  his  wife,  steadily, 
for  almost  a  minute,  and  then  said,  slightly  curling 
his  lip, — 

"  My  lady  had  better  lower  her  tone.  Her  manner 
is  by  no  means  agreeable." 

"  Morgan  !"  Mrs.  Eldridge  stamped  her  foot.  But 
her  anger  was  impotent,  and  she  felt  it  to  be  so,  for 
in  the  next  moment  she  was  in  a  passion  of  tears. 

Without  seeming  to  notice  this  effervescence  of 
feeling,  Eldridge  quietly  undressed  himself,  and  was 
in  bed  and  fast  asleep  ere  the  sobbing  of  the  tempest 
that  raged  for  a  time  in  the  mind  of  his  wife  had 
died  away  into  silence. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  when  the  aching  head 
of  Mrs.  Eldridge  pressed  its  pillow,  and  well  on  to 
the  nioming  watches  ere  slumber  sealed  her  eyelids. 
The  thoughts  that  kept  her  awake  were  among  th« 
most  troubled  of  her  life. 


66  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   SEEIOUS   ERROR. 

MR.  ELDRIDGE  was  awakened  on  the  next  morning 
1  f  the  loud  cries  of  the  children  in  angry  contention. 
1  he  voice  of  Katy  was,  as  usual,  mingling  sharply 
ttith  the  voices  of  her  brothers;  and  it  was  plain 
that,  as  usual,  she  had  taken  one  side  in  a  quarrel 
between  them. 

"Oh,  dear!  those  children  again!"  he  said,  as  ho 
started  up  in  bed.  He  found  that  his  wife  bad  arisen 
and  left  the  chamber.  Soon  her  voice  was  heard 
above  their  war  of  words,  and  cries  of  passion  were 
quickly  changed  into  cries  of  pain. 

"All  wrong!  All  wrong!"  murmured  the  dis 
turbed  husband  and  father,  sinking  back  upon  hia 
pillow,  where  he  lay  in  no  pleasant  state  of  mind  for 
nearly  ten  minutes.  Then  he  arose,  and  prepared 
to  meet  his  family  at  the  breakfast-table.  Clouda 
rested  on  the  parents'  brows ;  they  scarcely  looked 
into  each  other's  faces.  The  children  were  restless 
and  contentious,  as  usual,  and  were  all  driven  by 
their  mother  from  the  table  ere  the  meal  was  half 
completed. 

"  Katy,  you  come  back !"  sai  L  Mr.  Eldridge,  a« 
their  daughter  was  leaving  the  room  with  her  bro 
thers;  "you'll  only  set  them  by  the  ears." 


A   SERIOUS   ERROR.  57 

Katy  was  returning,  when  her  mother  started  up, 
and  said, — 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  go  out?  Leave  uo  thia 
inslant." 

The  face  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  like  scarlet,  while 
her  eyes  flashed  and  her  lips  quivered. 

The  child,  with  a  frightened  look,  hurried  out 
after  her  brothers. 

"  I'll  thank  you,  when  I  speak  to  the  children,  not 
to  interfere!"  said  Mrs. Eldridge,  with  indignation. 
"You  complain  that  I  don't  govern  them  rightly; 
and  yet,  when  I  attempt  to  use  authority,  you  set  it 
aside." 

Mr.  Eldridge  did  not  so  much  as  lift  his  eyes  to 
his  wife's  face,  but  went  on  eating  his  breakfast.  A 
few  minutes  afterward  he  arose  and  retired  to  his 
office,  to  take  up  the  business  of  the  day. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mr.  Eldridge  went  to  court.  He 
hadn't  been  gone  more  than  half  an  hour,  when 
Mrs.  Weakly  came  in,  and,  in  her  friendly,  winning 
way,  said, — 

"As  you  are  going  to  call  on  Mrs.  Glendy  this 
morning,  I  thought  I  would  go  with  you.  I  owe 
her  a  visit." 

Now,  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  thought  a  little  moie 
soberly  about  the  matter  since  parting  with  Mrs. 
Weakly,  and  a  feeling  of  prudent  hesitation  had 
(succeeded  to  her  first  determination  to  act  in  clear 
defiance  of  her  husband's  wishes.  Unfortunately, 
the  scene  at  the  breakfast-table  had  excited  some 
thing  like  resentment  against  her  husband,  and 


58  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

all  the  truer  perceptions  of  her  mind  were  again 
darkened.  Only  a  moment  she  hesitated  before 
replying,— 

"Thank  you  for  calling,  my  dear  Mrs.  Weakly! 
I'll  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 

Then,  excusing  herself  until  she  made  a  hasty 
toilette,  Mrs.  Eldridge  went  with  lighter  footsteps 
than  heart  to  her  chamber. 

"I  wish  I  had  not  promised  to  go  this  morning," 
she  said  aloud,  as  she  flat  down  on  the  side  of  her 
bed.  "  Mrs.  Weakly  seetns  possessed  to  drag  me 
off  to  see  that  woman.  If  I  only  felt  right  about  it ! 
Oh,  dear !  what  a  feverish  state  we  do  live  in  !  I'm 
sick  to  death  with  myself  and  everybody  else. 
There's  always  some  trouble  or  another  springing 
up.  The  sky  is  never  clear  for  a  day  at  a  time. 
Precious  little  do  I  feel  like  visiting  this  morning. 
I  wish  that  woman  had  stayed  at  home  and  minded 
her  own  business.  She'll  get  me  into  some  difficulty 
before  she's  done  with  me:  I  feel  it." 

A  little  while  Mrs.  Eldridge  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  vacancy.  Then,  starting  up,  she  said,  with  reviv 
ing  spirit, — 

"Pshaw !     This  is  an  unwomanly  weakness !" 

It  did  not  take  her  long  to  arrange  her  dress.  In 
a  much  shorter  time  than  is  usually  occupied  hy 
ladies  in  preparing  to  go  out,  she  was  ready,  and 
went  tripping  down-stairs,  to  join  her  friend,  aa 
lightly  as  if  a  care  had  never  laid  a  feather's  weight 
upon  her  spHt. 


A   SKK10US   ERROR.  59 

"Not  tired  of  waiting,  I  hope?"  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Weakly, 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  You're  ready  in  half  the  time  it 
takes  most  people.  But  I've  a  world  of  patience. 
Want  of  thought  is  what  makes  time  pass  heavily. 
I'm  always  thinking  ahout  something  or  other. — 
always  doing  some  kind  of  brain-work,  you  see; 
and  that  makes  the  hours  pass  as  fleetly  as  if  they 
had  wings." 

The  two  ladies  were  moving  down  the  hall  toward 
the  door,  when  a  voice  was  heard  calling  Mrs.  El- 
dridge.  It  was  that  of  the  cook ;  and  Mrs.  Eldridgo 
stepped  back  to  hear  what  she  had  to  say. 

"Will  you  be  home  soon,  ma'am?"  was  inquired. 

"  I  expect  to  be  :  why  ?" 

"  Because,  ma'am,  there's  nothing  in  the  house  for 
dinner." 

"  Oh,  I'll  return  early  enough  to  see  about  that," 
replied  Mrs.  Eldridge,  partly  turning  away. 

"  But  maybe  ye'll  be  kept  away  longer  than  ye 
thinks.  And  what  then,  ma'am  ?" 

"Pick  up  something,  in  that  case.  But  I'll  be 
dome  in  time." 

And  Mrs.  Eldridge  hurried  off  to  join  her  friend. 

"  Pick  up  something !  Yis,  indade  !  And  nice 
picking  up  it  will  be  !  Home  in  time  !  Ha !  Who 
ever  saw  her  leddyship  home  in  time  when  she  once 
got  a-going?" 

"  I'm  so  glad  you're  about  to  call  on  Mrs.  Glendy !" 
said  Mrs.  Weakly,  as  soon  as  they  were  on  the  street. 
4<  She's  a  lovely  woman,  and  tongue  of  Blander  never 


60  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO  ! 

did  a  fouler  work  than  when  it  tried  to  blacken  hoi 
uarae." 

They  had  gone  only  a  few  paces,  when  Mrs.  EI- 
d ridge  saw  her  husband  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  standing  in  a  group  of  three  or  four  men, 
talking. 

"  Mr.  Eldridge,"  said  Mrs.  Weakly,  intimating  that 
fiho  saw  the  husband  of  her  friend. 

"  Yes;  I  see  him,"  was  simply  answered. 

"  Weakly's  there  also;  and  I'm  glad  of  it." 

"  Why  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"Because  we  had  a  little  spat  last  night — an  un 
usual  thing  for  us  nowadays,  you  must  know — about 
Mrs.  Glendy.  He  said  something  in  reference  to 
her  that  didn't  just  please  me,  and  I  took  him  down 
pretty  sharply." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Oh,  some  vile  thing  that  I  can't  repeat.  Men 
talk  scandalously  sometimes.  They're  bad  to  the 
core, — all  of  them !  But,  as  I  was  saying,  I'm  glad 
Weakly's  there.  They're  just  in  sight  of  Mrs. 
Glendy's,  and  he  will  see  us  go  in.  So  will  your 
husband." 

By  no  means  a  pleasant  reflection  was  this  to  Mrs. 
Eldridge.  She  was  not  yet  prepared  to  set  her  hus 
band  so  openly  at  defiance.  But  there  was  no  retreat 
now,  for  she  had  not  the  moral  courage  to  let  her 
friend  see  that  she  could  be  deterred  from  going  be 
cause  the  eyes  of  her  husband  were  upon  her.  She 
did  not  reply,  but  walked  on  in  silence.  What  a 
heavy  pressure  was  on  her  feelings !  Mrs.  Glemly 


A   SERIOUS    ERROR.  61 

lived  on  the  main  street,  and  her  house  was  in  view 
from  the  point  where  Mr.  Eldridge  stood,  and  if  he 
remained  there  he  would  see  her  go  in.  A  fierce 
conflict  raged  in  her  mind  as  she  moved  along,-— 
pride,  indignation,  defiance,  regret,  shame,  in  turn 
gaining  the  ascendency.  But  there  was  no  turning 
back  now.  Pride  was  the  o'ermastering  passion. 

It  flashed  instantly  on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Eldridge, 
v  ben  he  saw  his  wife  pass  in  company  with  Mrs. 
Yreakly,  that  she  was  going  to  call  on  Mrs.  Glendy, 
n  >twith  stan  ding  he  had  so  decidedly  expressed,  time 
a^d  again,  his  opinion  that  she  ought  not  to  be  on 
tf  -ms  of  intimacy  with  her,  and  should  by  no  means 
vi  it  at  her  house. 

"Your  cara  sposa,"  said  Mr.  Weakly,  tossing  his 
head  toward  the  two  ladies,  as  they  passed,  opposite. 

"And  yours,"  replied  Eldridge,  smiling. 

"I  wonder  on  what  errand  of  mercy  they  are  bent 
this  morning."  "Weakly  spoke  in  a  light  voice. 

The  other  gentlemen  of  the  group  turned  their 
eyes  upon  Mrs.  Eldridge  and  Mrs.  Weakly,  thus  re 
ferred  to  by  their  husbands;  but  no  other  remark  ir. 
reference  to  them  was  made.  The  conversation 
went  on  again,  but  Eldridge  took  no  further  part  in 
it,  though  he  seemed  to  be  listening  with  careful 
attention.  His  eyes  and  his  thoughts  were  on  his 
wife,  whose  form  was  gradually  receding  in  the  dis 
tance  and  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  dwelling 
of  Mrs.  Glendy. 

"George  I"     suddenly    ejaculated    Mr.  Weakly. 


62  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

whose  gaze  had  also  been  fixed  upon  the  ladies.  "Is 
it  possible !" 

"Whut  pos°;iole?"  inquired  two  or  three  of  the 
gentlemen,  as  their  eyes  took  the  direction  oi 
Weakly's. 

"  What  can  possess  the  woman  ?"  added  "Weakly. 
"I  thought  I  had  said  enough  to  her  about  Mrs. 
Glendy,  and  there  she  is  calling  upon  her  in  broal 
daylight!  —  and  your  wife  is  with  her,  Eldridge. 
Don't  you  know  better  than  to  let  her  visit  that 
woman  ?" 

Surprise  was  pictured  in  the  countenance  of  &11 
the  gentlemen,  some  of  whom  shook  their  heads 
and  looked  gravely  knowing.  A  dark  shadow  feli 
over  the  face  of  Mr.  Eldridge,  and  his  heart  throbbed 
with  shame  and  indignation. 

""Women  are  strangely  perverse  sometimes,"  he 
remarked,  with  as  much  external  indifference  as  he 
could  assume,  and  then,  after  a  brief  struggle  with 
himself,  said,  in  a  quiet  voice,  addressing  one  of  the 
company,  with  whom  he  had  commenced  moving 
away  from  the  spot  where  they  had  been  standing, — 

"  What  were  you  saying  about  the  judge  ?'' 

"Judge  Gray?" 

"Yes." 

"Let  me  see.:  them  women  have  put  it  out  of  my 
head.  Oh,  yes!  now  I  remember.  The  judge  is 
one  of  the  cleverest  and  most  free-hearted  men  in 
the  country." 

"He  has  that  reputation." 

"And  justly  so,     I  know  him  like  a  book,  and 


A   SERIOUS   ERROB.  63 

l.ave  yet  to  learn  the  first  unmanly  trait  in  his  cha 
racter.  He  is  open-hearted  and  open-handed." 

Eldridge  did  not  fully  respond  either  in  thought 
or  word  to  this  unqualified  eulogium.  He  had  al 
ways  liked  Judge  Gray  for  his  kind,  free,  so"ial 
qualities,  but  had  never  thought  him  a  man  of  tried 
principles. 

"  I  think  you  said  that  he  talked  of  buying  that 
mill  property  ?"  said  Eldridge. 

"  Yes ;  I  know  he  has  his  eye  upon  it  and  will 
purchase  if  he  can  get  it  right.  He's  shrewd  at  a 
bargain." 

"For  all  his  free,  social  qualities,  the  judge  doesn't 
grow  any  poorer,"  remarked  Eldridge.  "He  has  the 
reputation  of  looking  out  for  the  main  chance." 

"It  is  safe  being  in  the  boat  with  such  a  man." 

"  Ah  !  now  I  understand  you,  friend  Craig.  You 
remarked  last  night  that  you  and  the  judge  were 
talking  over  a  little  speculation.  This  is  it;  and 
you  are  to  have  an  interest  in  the  matter?" 

"You've  guessed  it, — but,  under-the-rose,  remem 
ber.  I  thought  the  judge  would  have  mentioned  it 
himself  last  night,  for  I  know  he  means  to  talk  with 
ou  on  the  subject,  and  get  you  interested,  if  poa- 
ible." 

Eldridge  shook  his  head,  and  remarked, — 

"  1  never  had  any  fancy  for  speculation.  I  belong 
to  the  plodding,  easy-going,  slow-and-suj'e  division 
of  humanity." 

"  This  is  as  safe  as  a  gold-mine,"  said  Craig. 


64  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  Many  a  gold-mine  absorbs  more 
than  it  yields." 

They  had  reached  the  corner  of  the  street,  and 
were  about  separating. 

"We'll  see  you  at  McQuillan's  to-night?"  said 
Craig. 

"  Can't  say.     Am  doubtful." 

"  The  judge  will  be  there." 

"I  presume  so,  from  what  he  said  last  night." 

"I  know  he  wrants  to  see  you  and  have  a  talk 
about  that  mill  property." 

"Let  him  call  in  at  my  office,  then.  I'm  always 
at  home.  We  can  talk  there  free  from  all  disturb 
ance." 

"I  can't  answer  for  him  on  that  head.  But  think 
over  the  matter;  and,  if  time  hangs  in  the  least 
heavy  on  your  hands  to-night,  just  step  down  to 
McQuillan's.  You'll  find  us  there,  and  receive  a 
hearty  welcome." 

The  two  men  parted,  and  Eldridge  moved  on  to 
ward  the  court-house,  instantly  forgetful  of  all  else 
but  his  domestic  infelicities.  His  wife's  visit  to  Mrs. 
Glendy — a  woman  whose  name  was  spoken  in  light 
familiarity  by  nearly  every  man  in  the  town  of 
A  rden — had  so  confounded  him  that  he  was  bewil 
dered,  as  \vell  as  sorely  troubled.  Since  his  positive 
objections  to  his  wife's  keeping  up  the  acquaintance, 
he  had  heard  a  great  deal  more  about  the  woman 
that  had  a  very  disreputable  aspect.  If  she  were  not 
of  positively  bad  character,  she  was  at  least  culpably 
imprudent;  and  this  was  sufficient  for  Mr.  Eldridge. 


A    SERIOUS   ERROR.  65 

A  case  of  some  importance  occupied  his  attenttoL 
in  court  during  the  entire  morning-session.  It  \vas 
nearly  two  o'clock  when  he  was  released  from  at 
tendance.  As  soon  as  he  could  get  away  he  hurried 
Lome.  As  usual,  the  moment  he  entered  his  dooi 
the  noise  of  riot  and  wrangling  among  the  children 
fell  painfully  upon  his  ears,  and,  as  usual,  the  shrill 
voice  of  Katy  was  heard  high  above  the  din. 

"  "Where's  your  mother?"  he  inquired,  as  he  en 
tered  the  sitting-room,  where  a  scene  of  the  utmost 
disorder  presented  itself: — chairs  upset,  the  table 
drawn  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  work-basket 
overthrown,  and  the  floor  covered  with  books, 
papers,  caps,  and  sticks  of  wood,  pieces  of  broken 
china,  &c.,  in  disheartening  confusion. 

"  She  isn't  home,"  answered  Katy.  The  \\  ild  up 
roar  had  become  instantly  stilled  at  the  father's 
entrance. 

Mr.  Eldridge  stood  for  a  few  moments  surveying 
the  scene,  and  then,  turning  away,  went  down-stairs 
and  took  refuge  in  his  office.  He  had  just  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  when  he  heard  his  wife  enter 
and  move  quickly  along  the  passage.  His  first  im 
pulse  was  to  follow  her  to  her  room  and  angrily 
demand  her  reason  for  having  acted  in  such  gross 
defiance  of  his  expressed  wishes.  But,  ere  he  had 
moved  forward  a  pace,  reason  checked  the  move 
ment,  and  warned  him  not  to  be  guilty  of  simple 
folly.  Experience  had  sadly  proved  to  him  that 
when  his  wife's  passions  were  aroused  she  was  blind 
and  headstrong,  and  that  his  hand  was  not  strong 


66  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

enough  to  curb  her  will.  Her  tongue  pierced  like 
a  dagger  and  cut  like  a  tempered  sword.  In  a  war 
<)f  words  he  had  no  chance  with  her.  As  a  lawyer, 
}.a  had  encountered  many  unscrupulous  antagon>ti, 
bit  never  one  so  unscrupulous  as  his  wife. 

All  this  glanced  through  his  mind  as  he  stu-.  »<1 
;l>e  .kod  :n  the  movement  to  follow  her.  Then  he 
sat  down  heavily,  with  a  smothered  groan,  and 
buried  his  face  In  his  hands.  The  quiet  that  suc 
ceeded  his  visit  to  the  sitting-room  was  of  but  short 
duration.  A  very  different  result  followed  the  ap 
pearance  of  his  wife  in  that  scene  of  disorder.  At 
once  her  indignation  boiled  over,  and,  without  stop 
ping  to  ask  questions  or  utter  a  reproof,  she  com 
menced  passionately  striking  the  children  by  tun.d 
about  their  heads,  faces,  and  shoulders,  pouring  ox.t 
upon  them  at  the  same  time  a  torrent  of  angiy 
invective. 

The  sound  of  all  this  caused  Mr.  Eldridge  to  start 
to  his  feet,  and  in  the  moment's  excitement  to  bound 
half-way  up  the  stairs,  with  the  purpose  of  inter 
posing  a  stern  authority  between  his  children  and 
their  rage-blind  mother.  But  he  checked  himself 
in  the  movement,  conscious  of  his  impotency  in  tha 
case,  and  went  sadly,  and  almost  hopelessly,  back 
to  his  office.  There  he  eat,  in  troubled  self-com 
munion,  until  the  dinner-bell  startled  him  with  \is 
unwelcome,  rather  than  welcome,  sound.  Slowly 
be  arose,  and  with  slow  pace  took  his  way  to  the 
d;n  ing-room,  where  his  wife  and  children  had  pre- 
coded  him.  He  found  nothing  very  inviting  there, 


A    SERTOL3   ERROR.  67 

sither  in  the  company  or  the  repast.  The  only 
Lrticles  of  food  on  the  table  were  a  dish  of 
>oiled  potatoes,  a  plate  of  bread,  and  another  of 
mtter. 

Mrs.  Eldridge,  with  a  face  like  scarlet,  was 
iuging  the  table-bell  violently,  which  summons 
vas  answered  by  the  cook,  who  came  up-stair& 
vith  a  slow,  firm  step,  as  if  prepaiing  herself  to 
>rave  a  storm. 

"Is  this  all  the  dinner  you've  got?"  demanded 
kirs.  Eldridge. 

"  Yis,  ma'am,"  was  replied,  in  a  composed  voice. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  such  conduct?  How 
lare  you  get  up  a  meal  like  this  ?" 

"Sure,  ma'am,"  answered  the  cook,  as  calm  as  a 
ipring  morning,  "and  didn't  I  tell  yez  that  we 
lad  nothing  in  the  house  for  dinner? — and  didn't 
re  say  that  ye'd  be  home  in  time?  I've  done 
he  best  I  could,  ma'am.  There  was  nothing  else 
;o  get." 

"It's  a  lie!  You  dirty  hussy!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Sldriclge,  thrown  into  a  perfect  rage.  "  To  dare  to 
reat  me  so  !  Leave  my  sight  and  the  house  this 
nstant,  you  miserable  Irish  trollop !" 

"As  ye  likes,  ma'am,"  returned  the  girl,  with  an 
mruffled  manner.  "Hard  words  break  no  bones, 
.'ve  done  my  duty,  and  I  hope  you'll  always  do  youra 
is  well." 

"Go!  go!"  screamed  Mrs.  Eldridge  welliiigh 
lirown  into  hysterics  by  this  unexpected  climax  tv 
iLe  scenes  of  the  day. 


08  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN  DO? 

The  girl  withdrew,  but,  instead  of  going  back  to 
the  kitchen,  ascended  to  the  attic.  Mr.  Eldridge  had 
no  appetite  left  for  even  the  most  tempting  dishes, 
much  less  for  the  uninviting  fare  that  had  been  set 
before  him.  So  he  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  left 
bis  wife  and  children  to  make  the  best  of  the  scanty 
meal  which  the  cook  had  provided.  After  musing 
for  a  short  time  in  his  office,  he  went  out,  and,  un 
determined  what  to  do  or  where  to  go,  he  strolled 
along  the  street,  and,  ere  conscious  of  the  distance 
he  had  gone,  found  himself  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  town,  and  near  the  handsome  residence  of  Judge 
Gray.  The  judge  was  standing  at  his  gate,  and 
greeted  him  with  his  usual  frank  and  cordial  man 
ner,  insisting  on  his  coming  in- and  taking  a  glass 
of  wine  with  him. 

Eldridge  could  not  well  say  "  no"  to  the  judge's 
invitation,  and  so  he  went  in,  and  they  chatted  a 
few  minutes  over  their  wine.  While  thus  engaged, 
the  dinner-bell  interrupted  them. 

"Just  in  time  !"  said  Judge  Gray,  laying  his  hand 
firmly  on  the  arm  of  Eldridge.  "  You  haven't 
dined  yet?" 

"No — ye — yes,"  stammered  Eldridge. 

"  Exactly !  I've  some  fine  woodcock,  and  am  all 
alone  to-day.  So  you  shall  be  my  guest,  willingly 
or  per  force,  as  the  case  may  be." 

"  Pray,  excuse  me,"  said  Eldridge.  "  I  must  go 
home." 

"  No  excuse.  I'll  send  a  note  of  apology  to  your 
lady,  if  desired,  and  say  that  you  are  a  prisr 


TROUBLE.  6V 

against  your  will.     Come !     The  fiiie  flavor  oi  the 


birds  is  wasting  itself." 


And,  unheeding  all  his  guest's  protestations  arid 
excuses,  he  conducted  him  to  the  dining-room,! 


CHAPTER 

TROUBLE. 

IN  external  matters  it  was  far  from  being  as  weh 
with  Dr.  Penrose  as  he  desired.  He  did  not  possess 
by  nature  the  qualities  requisite  to  a  rapid  advance 
ment  in  the  world.  He  was  more  timid  than  san 
guine,  and  far  too  sensitive  to  push  his  way  amid 
personal  opposition  or  at  the  risk  of  personal  ill- 
will.  His  tastes  had,  so  far  in  life,  led  him  to  desire 
elegancies  in  his  household  far  beyond  his  ability  to 
obtain.  Even  the  few  indulgencies  ventured  upon 
had  drawn  so  heavily  on  his  slender  purse  that  a 
sense  of  poverty  took  away  all  true  enjoyment,  and 
he  few  choice  pictures,  vases,  and  statuettes  which 
be  had  bought  were  scarcely  looked  at  with  interest 
once  in  a  fortnight.  He  observed,  not  without  a 
feeling  of  discouragement  or  discontent,  other  men, 
starting  with  him  side-by-side  in  life,  gradually  or 
rapidly  rising  into  the  possession  of  fortunes, — men 
with  intellectual  abilities,  in  most  cases,  ranging  fai 
below  his  own.  Even  in  his  profession  he  saw 
8om3  of  his  fellow-students,  who  had  scarcely 


70  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

crowded  through  their  examination,  (he  had  made 
a  brilliant  advent  into  the  ranks  of  his  profession,) 
steadily  advancing  their  worldly  interests,  while  he 
was  barely  able  to  secure  enough  to  keep  want  from 
the  home  that  sheltered  his  beloved  ones.  Even  in 
the  village  of  Arden  inferior  skill  to  his  own  founl 
a  predominating  popularity. 

Several  things  had  occurred,  on  the  day  referred 
to  in  the  preceding  chapter,  to  depress  and  discou 
rage  Dr.  Penrose  and  to  till  hj  3  mind  with  gloomy 
doubts.  A  few  years  before,  he  had  ventured,  after 
a  more  than  usually  encouraging  season,  to  pur 
chase  the  house  in  which  he  lived,  paying  down  five 
hundred  dollars,  which  he  had  saved,  and  engaging 
to  pay  five  hundred  a  year  for  the  four  successive 
years  The  cost  of  the  property  was  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars.  Interest  was,  of  course,  to  be 
allowed  on  the  balance  unpaid.  To  secure  this 
balance  there  was  a  mortgage  on  the  property. 

As  it  had  turned  out  with  Dr.  Penrose  from  the 
beginning,  it  turned  out  now.  His  hopes  were  not 
fully  realized.  Instead  of  being  able  to  pay  off  five 
hundred  a  year,  he  had  only  accomplished  an  annual 
reduction  of  three  hundred.  The  holder  of  tho 
mor^.ge  grew  more  and  moro  impatient  of  d<  Viy, 
and  *hs  impatience  fretted  the  doctor  sorely.  Uis 
usupo,  WHS  quick,  and  he  had  little  control  over  his 
words  whon  under  excitement.  Tho  consequence 
was  that  he  had  replied  to  the  holder  of  the  mort 
gage,  on  two  or  three  occasions,  in  so  tart  a  manner 
that  ill-feeling  was  created.  A  threat  of  foreclosure 


TROUBLE.  71 

followed,  very  naturally,  to  which  the  doctor  an- 
e\vored  in  a  defiant  manner. 

James  Barlow,  the  holder  of  the  mortgage,  was  a 
'peculator  in  property,  and  owned  a  large  portion 
of  tLe  best  lots  in  the  town  of  Arden.  He  was  an 
eager,  grasping,  unscrupulous  man,  and  never  hesi 
tated  about  ruining  a  poor  debtor,  if  that  ruin  were 
deemed  by  him  necessary  for  the  security  of  even  a 
small  sum  of  money.  About  two  years  after  his 
sale  to  Dr.  Penrose  there  was  a  sudden  rise  in  pro 
perty  in  the  doctor's  immediate  neighborhood, 
consequent  upon  the  choice  of  a  fine  lot,  not  far 
distant,  by  the  county  commissioners,  for  the  erec 
tion  of  handsome  county  buildings,  with  extensive 
grounds.  The  value  of  the  doctor's  house  and  half- 
acre  of  ground  was  at  once  advanced  one  thousand 
dollars.  Barlow's  first  emotion,  on  learning  where 
the  new  county  buildings  were  to  be  located,  was 
one  of  regret  that  he  did  not  still  own  the  house  in 
which  Dr.  Penrose  lived. 

"I'd  have  been  fifteen  hundred  dollars  better  off 
to-day,  if  I'd  kept  that  property,"  be  said  to  him 
self,  with  a  feeling  of  chagrin.  "Why  can't  we 
know  what  is  going  to  happen  ?" 

It  was  only  a  day  or  two  afterward  that  the  doctcr 
called  to  make  his  half-yearly  payment  on  the  mort 
gage.  His  previous  payment  had  only  been  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  he  had  promised  to 
make  this  three  hundred  and  fifty.  But  the  doc 
tor's  expectations  had  been  again  disappointed;  Le 
could  only  make  up  one  hundred  and  fifty,  and 


72  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO  ? 

one- third  of  that  sum  he  had  been  compelled  to 
!»<>ITOVV. 

Mr.  Barlow,  when  the  money  was  counted  out  oc 
the  table  before  him,  looked  grave. 

"  [t  T?  mortifying  to  me,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  de- 
grossed  manner,  "to  ask  a  little  more  indulgence. 
But  physicians'  bills  are  the  hardest  in  the  world  to 
collect.  There  is  over  a  thousand  dollars  of  good 
a>  counts  due  me,  but  nobody  is  ready  to  pay." 

Mr.  Barlow  drew  the  money  toward  him,  and  for 
Rome  time  sat  regarding  it  in  moody  silence. 

"  I  fully  expected  the  whole  sum  due.  I  have  use 
for  it,  Dr.  Penrose." 

"I  have  done  the  best  in  my  power,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

Mr.  Barlow  had  a  daughter,  whom  the  doctor,  a 
few  weeks  before,  had  brought  through  a  dangerous 
illness.  Gratitude  for  the  unwearied  attention  and 
devoted  skill  of  the  physician  had  not  quite  died  out 
of  the  man's  hard  heart.  A  passing  remembrance 
of  one  or  two  scenes  in  the  sick-chamber  reproved 
his  present  unkindness,  and  constrained  him  to  say, 
in  rather  a  softened  manner, — 

"  Let  it  pass,  now." 

A  receipt  was  hastily  written;  and,  as  he  handed 
it  to  the  doctor,  he  remarked,  in  a  voice  that  was 
meant  to  be  a  little  cheerful, — 

"You  must  try  ani  do  better  next  year.  Ke- 
meniber  that  the  prop-  rty  I  sold  you  has  materially 
improved  in  value." 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  replied  Dr.  Penrose,  aa 


TROUBLE.  73 

he  folded  up  the  receipt.  He  stood  a  few  moments, 
ai  1  then  coldly  turned  away,  feeling  so  discouraged 
and  humiliated  that  he  went  to  his  home,  instead 
of  visiting  some  patients  who  needed  his  attention, 
and,  shutting  the  door  of  his  office,  abandoned  him 
self  to  weakness  and  despondency. 

The  year  that  succeeded  proved  one  of  no  mate 
rially-increasing  prosperity  to  Dr.  Penrose.  The 
first  six  months'  payment  to  Mr.  Barlow,  received 
under  protest,  was  but  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

Another  half-year  had  expired,  and  the  doctor 
had  again  called  upon  his  creditor.  The  result  of 
this  interview  was  one  of  the  causes  of  depression 
referred  to  near  the  opening  of  this  chapter.  He 
could  raise  no  more  than  about  an  equal  sum  to 
that  accumulated  at  the  last  pay-day.  With  this,  in 
a  chafed,  defiant  state  of  mind,  he  called  upon  Bar 
low.  He  expected  trouble,  and  was  prepared  to 
meet  it  in  the  wrorst  way  possible. 

The  two  men  met  in  no  amiable  mood  with  each 
other.  Barlow  saw,  on  his  first  glance  at  the  doc 
tor's  face,  that  he  had  come  with  the  old  story  of 
deficient  collections,  and  his  mind  was  made  up  not 
to  accept  any  more  excuses  in  the  place  of  money. 

"  Good-morning,  doctor." 

"  Good-morning." 

For  some  moments  the  two  men  looked  at  each 
other  half-ac'kance. 

"  I've  brought  you  some  more  money,"  said  Dr 
Penrose,  drawing  out  his  pocket-book  as  he  spoke. 

"  How  much  ?"  was  asked. 

7 


74  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO  ? 

"The  old  story  again.     Only- " 

"I'm  tired  of  the  old  story,"  said  Barlow,  a  little 
roughly.  "  I  can't  take  any  more  half  paymei its." 

The  doctor  thrust  his  wallet  back  into  his  pocket. 
llis  fa  ;e  crimsoned  and  his  lips  quivered. 

"As  you  like,"  he  answered,  with  assumed  indifi 
ference. 

"I  expect  payment  according  to  contract: — no 
thing  more,  nothing  less,"  said  Barlow. 

"  I  can  give  you  a  hundred  and  seventy  dollars," 
was  replied. 

"  It  won't  answer.  I  want  the  whole  amount  due 
from  the  beginning." 

"But  I  have  said,  Mr.  Barlow,  that  one  hundred 
and  seventy  was  all  I  could  pay.  Impossibilities 
should  be  required  of  no  man." 

"  Men  should  not  engage  to  do  impossibilities.  1 
could  have  sold  that  property  a  dozen  times  over  at 
an  advance  of  a  thousand  dollars  on  what  you 
agreed  to  pay  for  it." 

"  It's  no  use  to  waste  words.  I've  told  you  the 
best  I  could  do,"  said  the  doctor,  impatiently. 

"Very  well.  If  that's  all  you  can  do,  my  course 
is  clear.  I  can  easily  make  the  money." 

"What!  How?"  Dr.  Penrose  turned  short 
around,  and  fixed  his  eyes  keenly  upon  the  face  of 
his  creditor. 

"  The  money  can  be  raised  quite  easily,"  was 
coolly  replied.  "Mortgages  are  safe  investments. 
Let  me  give  you  this  piece  of  advice.  To  save 
yourself  trouble,,  borrow  the  sum  needed  to  make 


TROUBLE.  75 

al!  your  payments  good  up  to  this  day.  Other 
wise " 

There  was  a  brief  hesitation. 

"  Say  011  !"  Dr.  Penrose  flung  the  words  out 
indignantly. 

"  The  mortgage  will  be  immediately  foreclosed." 

"  Good-morning !"  was  all  the  reply  that  was 
made  to  this  threat,  and  the  men  parted. 

Had  Dr.  Penrose  acted  as  he  felt,  he  would  have 
gone  home  and  folded  his  hands  in  despair.  He 
was,  indeed,  on  his  way  thither,  when  a  thought  of 
his  loving,  patient,  true-hearted  wife,  who,  in  all 
trials  and  discouragements,  had  for  him  a  word 
of  comfort,  arrested  his  steps,  and  caused  him  to 
say,— 

"  This  is  unmanly.  No  I  I  will  not  give  up  thus 
without  an  effort.  The  property  is  worth  double 
the  sum  that  remains  unpaid.  Some  one  in  Arden 
will  help  me  out  of  my  difficult}*." 

As  he  walked  slowly  along,  thinking  first  of  one 
und  then  of  another,  his  mind  at  last  rested  on  Judge 
Gray  as  the  man  who  wTould,  most  probably,  aid 
him  in  his  extremity.  He  was  physician  in  the 
judge's  family,  and  the  judge  had  always  mani 
fested  what  seemed  a  friendly  interest.  So  he  called 
upon  him  and  found  him  disengaged. 

"  I'm  in  trouble,  Judge  Gray,"  he  said,  coming, 
without  circumlocution,  to  the  business  upon  which 
he  had  called. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  doctor.  What's  the 
matter?" 


76  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO  ? 

"  Barlow  threatens  to  enter  up  the  mortgage  on 
my  house." 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  that?" 

"  Simply  this  and  no  more.  I  engaged  to  i  ay 
him  five  hundred  a  year  on  the  property,  and  have 
only  been  able  to  raise  three  hundred.  He's  out  of 
patience,  and  will  bear  with  me  no  longer.  I've 
done  all  I  could ;  the  best  can  do  nothing  more. 
Ah,  me!  This  life-struggle  is  a  hard  one.  It  is 
DO  easy  thing  to  battle  with  the  world.  Heaven 
knows,  I  devote  myself  with  untiring  assiduity  to 
my  profession,  but  I  make  slow  progress." 

"  Tut,  tut,  doctor !  Don't  give  up  in  that  sort  of 
fashion.  A  man  never  helps  himself  along  in  the 
world  by  giving  way  to  despondency.  How  much 
is  still  due  on  your  house?" 

"  Counting  interest  and  all,  about  fifteen  hundred 
dollars." 

"What's  it  worth?" 

"  Thirty-five  hundred,  if  it's  worth  a  copper." 

A  broad  smile  passed  over  the  judge's  counte- 
Dance. 

"  Not  a  very  desperate  case,  it  strikes  me." 

"Desperate  enough,  where  you  haven't  an  extra 
dollar  to  help  yourself  with." 

•'If  I  had  the  cash  to  spare  I'd  take  the  mortgage 
at  »  nee.  But  don't  fret  yourself,  doctor.  All  will 
come  out  right.  You'll  find  no  difficulty  in  raising 
every  dollar  you  want." 

"  But  where,  judge,  where  ?" 


TROUBLE.  77 

"  I  can't  answsr  that  question  on  the  spot.  Let 
me  see." 

The  judge  thought  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
said, — 

"  The  fact  is,  doctor,  you  are  too  exclusively  a  pro 
fessional  man,  and  mingle  too  little  on  social  terms 
\vith  your  fellow-citizens.  You  know  but  little  of 
your  townsmen  personally,  and  they  know  but  little 
of  you.  When  sick,  they  send  for  you,  and,  when 
well,  dismiss  you  from  their  thoughts.  Now,  all 
this  works  against  your  advancement  in  the  world. 
There  are  plenty  of  money-making  operations  in  a 
place  like  this,  which  the  shrewd  and  observant  take 
part  in.  Small  ventures  often  make  large  returns. 
You  should  know  all  about  what  is  going  on,  and 
be  ready  to  take  advantage  of  fair  opportunities.  Do 
you  suppose  my  salary  as  judge  would  enable  me  to 
accumulate  property?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  But  I  am 
always  wide  awake,  and  ready  to  venture  when  the 
promise  is  best." 

"I'm  no  man  of  the  world,  judge,"  replied  ttj 
doctor,  "  and,  I'm  afraid,  never  will  be.  Outside  of 
my  profession  I  am  little  more  than  an  inexperienced 
child." 

"All  very  foolish  of  you, —  all  very  unmanly,  if 
you  will  excuse  me  for  saying  so,"  answered  tire 
judge.  "But  let  the  past  suffice.  Come  out 
among  us,  and  let  us  know  you  better.  Mingle 
as  a  man  with  your  fellow-citizens.  Take  some  in 
terest  in  public  affairs,  and  you  will  find  yourself,  at 
the  end  of  a  year,  enough  better  ofl'  to  encourage 


78  WHAT   JAN   WOMAN    DO  ? 

you  to  go  in  the  good  way.  Are  you  engaged  tliia 
evening?" 

"  Not  specially." 

"Very  well.  Come  down  to  McQuillan's  after 
tea.  A  few  of  us  meet  there  in  reference  to  somo 
property  speculations  that  show  a  splendid  promise. 
There  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  you  should  not 
have  an  interest  therein  as  well  as  any  one  else." 

"I'm  not  sharp  enough  for  business  of  this  kind," 
said  the  doctor.  "I  have  studied  my  profession 
carefully,  and  believe  myself  skilled  in  the  art  of 
healing;  but  of  general  business  I  know  but  little, 
and,  were  I  to  trust  myself  on  the  sea  of  specula 
tion,  would,  most  certainly,  make  shipwreck  of 
every  thing." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  You'll  soon  get  your  eyes 
open,"  replied  the  judge.  "All  is  plainer  sailing 
than  you  imagine.  At  any  rate,  come  down  this 
evening  and  hear  and  see  a  little  for  yourself.  It 
will  be  an  introduction,  if  nothing  more,  and  bring 
you  into  closer  contact  with  men  who  have  the 
ability  to  help  you  in  your  present  need.  Personal 
ntercourse  does  a  great  deal  sometimes." 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Nonsense!  Say  you'll  come."  The  judge  seemed 
particularly  urgent.  "I  want  you  there  for  special 
reasons." 

"I  can't  think  of  any  thing  else  now  but  this 
cursed  mortgage,"  replied  Dr.  Penrose,  with  some 
bitterness. 

"  Oh !  that's  a  mere  bagatelle, — the  empty  rattle 


TROUBLE.  79 

of  a  harmless  drum  !  Don't  bo  scared  at  so  feeble 
a  menace.  Come  down  to  McQuillan's  this  evei> 
ing.  In  the  mean  time  I  will  think  over  the  matier 
for  you.  There  are  plenty  of  ways  and  means  in 
eserve  for  a  case  like  this,  and  we  must  find  them, 
fou'll  be  there?" 

"Most  likely,'  said  the  doctor,  "unless  called  to 
some  urgent  case.  We  have  never  the  full  control 
of  our  time." 

"You  owe  something  to  yourself  as  well  as  to 
your  patients  You  are  sick  now,  and  must  have 
attention." 

Dr.  Penrose,  but  little  encouraged  by  this  in 
terview  with  Judge  Gray,  retired,  and  turned  his 
steps  homeward.  For  night-meetings  at  taverns  he 
had  little  fancy ;  and,  as  far  as  property  operations 
were  concerned,  the  only  one  in  which  he  was  inte 
rested  had  caused  him  more  trouble  and  mortifica 
tion  than  he  desired  ever  again  to  experience. 

He  said  nothing  to  his  wife  at  dinner-time  about 
the  ui  pleasant  occurrences  of  the  morning,  though 
it  did  not  escape  her  quick  eyes  that  he  was  un 
usually  depressed  in  spirits. 

During  the  afternoon,  the  thoughts  of  Dr. 
Penrose  dwelt  a  good  deal  on  the  intimations  of 
Judge  Gray  in  regard  to  his  too  great  isolation  of 
himself,  and  the  necessity,  if  he  would  better  his 
condition,  of  mingling  on  more  intimate  terms  with 
his  fellow-citizens.  He  saw  that  there  was  force  in 
the  judge's  remarks,  and  ielt  that  ha  stood  too  much 


80  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

alone  and  too  far  out  of  the  current  of  piogres-nv« 
events. 

"There'll  be  no  harm  in  going  down  to  McQuil 
Lan's  to-night,"  he  thought  with  himself.  "Perhaps 
something  may  grow  out  of  it.  Judge  Gray  is  a 
man  of  influence,  and  he  evidently  feels  an  interest 
in  my  affairs.  He  is  shrewd,  and,  if  I  act  under 
his  advice,  I  cannot  go  very  wrong.  I  don't  fancy 
these  night-convocations:  still,  where  men  are  in 
active  business  all  day,  evening  is  the  only  time  left 
for  intercommunication,  and  a  public  house  has  the 
advantage  of  a  common  ground  of  assemblage. 
Yes,  the  judge  is  right :  I  live  too  much  within  my 
self.  I'm  only  a  doctor,  and  known  only 'as  a  doctor 
in  the  town.  If  any  one  falls  sick,  I'm  sent  for; 
and  afterward  I'm  scarcely  thought  of,  except  when 
my  bill  goes  in." 

The  more  the  doctor's  rnind  dwelt  on  the  subject, 
the  clearer  it  became  that  he  ought  to  join  the  judge 
and  his  friends  at  McQuillan's.  His  path  was  all 
hedged  up,  and  only  in  this  direction  did  there  seem 
to  be  any  way  of  escape.  The  judge  had  influence, 
felt  an  interest  in  him,  and  showed  a  particular  de- 
eire  to  have  him  come  down  that  evening. 

"  I'll  go,"  was  his  final  conclusion,  "and  see  whbt 
tomes  of  it.  No  harm  can  arise, — that  much  i« 
certain ;  and  good  may  be  the  result." 


A.   TRUE    WIFE. 


CHAPTER    VUI. 

A   TRUE   WIFE. 

THERE  were  several  strong  points  of  difference 
between  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Penrose.  In  natural  cha 
racter  and  temperament  they  were  opposites.  She 
was  hopeful  and  cheerful,  he  desponding,  musing, 
and  silent.  They  were  very  different,  also,  in  ac 
quired  character  and  in  mental  and  moral  disci 
pline.  The  education  of  Mrs.  Penrose  had  been  a 
religious  one,  that  of  her  husband  a  simply  moral 
one.  All  her  feelings  and  sympathies,  as  well  aa 
her  dail}  life,  were  on  the  side  of  religion;  and  her 
pure  spirit  ever  looked  from  things  natural  up  to 
things  spiritual.  But  the  doctor's  mind  dwelt  only 
in  this  lower  and  visible  world :  it  had  no  power  to 
rise  above  the  rational  and  the  intellectual.  In  Pro 
vidence  he  had  no  sure  confidence,  and  never  was 
able  to  see  how  our  light  afflictions  here  have  power 
to  work  out  for  us  "  a  far  more  exceeding  and  el  ernal 
weight  of  glory."  There  was  about  him,  in  reality, 
less  of  faith  than  skepticism. 

It  had  never  been  without  a  feeling  of  concern 
that  Mrs.  Penrose  saw  her  husband  go  out  into  the 
world  ;  for  she  ki.ew  that,  unless  the  panoply  of  a 
true  faith  in  God  and  a  reliance  upon  his  justice  and 
were  around  him,  he  was  never  secuiv. 


82  WHAT  CAN    WOMAN    DO  ? 

His  disinclination  to  mingle  socially  with  his  f>ll<>\\ 
men  had  not,  therefore,  been  to  her  a  cause  of  re 
2, ret.      She   knew   that   their   home-circle    \\as    hit 
GJiiVt  place,  and  she  ever  tried  to  render  it  as  at 
'rac'ive  as  possible.     She  waiohed  his  varied  moods 

*f  mind,  and,  with  the  wisdom  of  a  true  love.  si. 

>ore  herself  toward  him  that  her  presence  nevei 
disturbed,  but  always  softened,  strengthened,  or 
sustained  him.  If  he  was  desponding,  she  skilfully 
sought  to  lift  his  thoughts  upward,  and  to  help  his 
reason,  if  not  his  perceptions,  to  see,  in  some  feeble 
light,  the  truth  that  there  was  One  over  all,  by 
whom  the  very  hairs  of  our  head  are  numbered. 
If  he  came  home  fretted  by  disappointment  or  an 
noyed  at  unpleasant  occurrences  in  or  out  of  hi? 
profession,  she  soothed  him  by  loving  attentions,  or 
directed  his  thoughts  to  subjects  of  cheerful  inte 
rest.  Never  did  she  suffer  the  sombre  hue  of  his 
feelings  to  throw  over  her  countenance  a  perceptible 
shade  ;  at  least,  not  while  he  was  present. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Mrs.  Penrose  had  gr<  at 
influence  over  her  husband,  and  that  he  loved  and 
honored  her  as  a  true  wife.  Reserved  as  he  was  by 
nature,  and  inclined  to  silence  when  trouble  op 
pressed  his  feelings,  he  rarely  concealed  any  thing 
from  her.  If  things  went  wrong  with  him,  lu 
generally  communicated  the  facts,  sure  of  find! ru 
in  his  wife  a  hopeful  counsellor. 

Evening  closed  in,  and  Dr.  Penrose  retun.i-d 
home,  pondering,  as  he  had  been  pondering  nearly 
all  day,  the  unhappy  condition  of  his  affairs.  \t 


A   TRUE   WIFE.  83 

yet  no  light  had  dawned  in  upon  him.  He  saw  no 
Way  of  escape  from  the  difficulties  that  environed 
his  path.  This  being  so,  he  was  the  more  strongly 
.inclined  to  accept  the  invitation  of  Judge  Gray. 
Unless  help  came  in  this  direction,  from  whence 
could  it  come  ?  He  had  thought  of  nearly  every 
man  in  the  town  who  had  money;  but  there  was 
not  one  upon  whom,  considering  his  present  per 
sonal  relations,  he  could  call  with  any  prospect  of 
aid.  To  McQuillan's,  therefore,  he  was  resolved  to 
go. 

Up  to  this  time  he  had  not  mentioned  to  his  wife 
the  refusal  of  Mr.  Barlow  to  accept  the  deficient 
payment,  and  his  threat  of  selling  their  property  to 
satisfy  his  mortgage.  lie  had  hoped  to  he  able,  at 
the  same  time,  to  say  to  her  that  he  had  made  ar 
rangements  for  all  the  money  that  was  needed  to 
hold  every  thing  secure.  It  had  not  escaped  her 
quick  eyes  that  he  was  suffering  under  an  unusual 
depression  ;  and  she  was  waiting  patiently  for  some 
intimation  of  the  cause.  He  said  nothing  at  tea- 
time  of  what  was  in  his  thoughts ;  and,  not  long 
after  they  had  left  the  table,  he  remarked  to  his 
wife, — 

"  I  am  going  out  for  an  hour  this  evening." 

He  did  not  look  her  steadily  in  the  face  as  he  said 
tliis. 

"Who's  sick?"  inquired  Mrs.  Penrose. 

"No  one;  but  I  promised  Judge  Gray  that  I 
would  see  him  this  evening." 

"  See  Judge  Gray  !"     Mrs.  Penrose  failed,  to  con- 


*l  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

coal    the    surprise   occasioned    "by  this   announce 
ment. 

"Yes.  He  asked  me  to  come  down  to  Mc 
Quillan's  to-night.  Several  gentlemen  are  to  be 
there. 

"McQuillan's?  I  wouldn't  go,  dear."  And  Mrs. 
Penrose  laid  her  hand  gently  on  the  arm  of  her 
husband,  and  looked  tenderly,  yet  very  earnestly, 
into  his  face. 

"If  you  had  as  strong  reasons  for  accepting  the 
invitation  as  I  have,  I  think  you  would  go,"  replied 
the  doctor,  forcing  a  smile. 

"You  will  not  hide  from  me  the  reason?" 

"No,  certainly  not.  Still,  it  would  have  gratified 
me  no  little  could  I  have  saved  you  the  anxious 
feelings  the  communication  you  desire  must  oc 
casion." 

"  Oh,  my  husband,  don't  you  know  me  better 
than  all  that?"  said  Mrs.  Penrose.  "To  lighten 
your  burdens  by  sharing  them  is  one  of  the  truest 
pleasures  of  my  life.  Tell  me  all." 

Dr.  Penrose  drew  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and 
they  walked  thus  down  into  his  office.     As  the  doo 
shut  behind  them,  he  said, — 

"Barlow  refused  to  take  the  payment  I  offered 
to-day." 

" He  did?" 

"Yes." 

"On  what  ground?" 

"  It  was  short  of  the  sum  due,  and  he  would  have 
all  or  none." 


A  TRUE   WIFE.  86 

"He  means  to  sell  our  house  unless  the  money  it 
paid?"  said  Mrs.  Penrose,  anticipating  so  much  of 
wnat  her  husband  had  to  say. 

"Such  is  his  threat." 

"Do  you  believe  he  will  go  to  that  extremity?" 

"I  fear  we  have  nothing  to  hope  from  his  cle 
mency.  He  is  a  hard,  selfish,  cruel  man,  as  every 
one  in  Arden  knows." 

"I  don't  believe  he  will  put  his  hands  on  otu 
property,"  said  Mrs.  Penrose,  in  a  confident  tone  or 
voice. 

"  Why  should  he  spare  me  more  than  another?" 

"  He  owes  you  a  debt  of  gratitude,  for  service  ren 
dered  in  his  family,  that  his  conscience  will  not  lot 
him  disregard." 

"  Gratitude  !  Conscience !"  replied  the  doctor. 
"He  knows  them  not." 

"  Others  of  his  household  do,  at  least ;  and  through 
them,  I  know,  influence  can  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
him.  He  will  not  sell  this  property,  depend  upon 
it" 

"And  you  may  depend  upon  it  he  will.  He  was 
angry  and  dogged,  and  we  parted  in  no  friendly 
spirit:  I've  been  trying  all  day  to  make  some  ar 
rangement,  but  without  avail.  I  saw  Judge  Gray, 
and  he  spoke  very  kindly  and  encouragingly.  Ho 
said  that  he  would  himself  advance  the  money  and 
take  the  mortgage  off  of  Barlow's  hands,  if  he  had 
it  to  spare.  He  blamed  me  a  little  for  keeping  bO 
.nuch  aloof  from  the  people  in  the  town,  ar.d  said 
bat  I  must  come  iito  a  closer  personal  association 

8 


86  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

with  them  if  I  desired  to  advance  myself.  Now  I 
was  only  regarded  as  a  physician.  Few  knew  me 
well  enough  to  have  a  friendly  interest  in  me.  As 
things  were,  he  said,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for 
me  to  become  better  acquainted  with  my  fellow 
citizens.  To-night  there  would  be  a  good  oppor 
tunity  for  me  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  several 
able  ai\d  influential  men  who  were  to  meet  him  at 
the  hotel,  and  I  must  be  sure  to  come  down.  So 
you  see  that  I  have  weighty  arguments  in  favor  of 
accepting  his  invitation." 

Mrs.  Penrose  looked  serious. 

"I  don't  like  these  night-meetings  at  taverns," 
she  simply  remarked. 

"Nor  do  I,"  said  the  doctor. 

"I  wouldn't  go."     Mrs.  Penrose  spoke  firmly. 

"But  see  how  much  is  at  stake,"  replied  her 
l.usband. 

"  Not  so  very  much."  A  cheerful  smile  lit  up  the 
countenance  of  Mrs.  Penrose.  "  Our  house  is  worth 
more  than  double  what  is  due  upon  it.  If  Barlow 
persists  in  his  purpose,  how  soon  can  he  sell?" 

"Not  for  some  months." 

"All  will  come  out  right,  depend  upon  it."  Mrs. 
Penrose  spoke  with  such  a  loving  confidence  in  her 
voice  that  her  spirit  was  transfused  into  that  of  her 
husband.  "Throw  doubt  to  the  winds,  love!"  slo 
added.  "  The  clouds  in  our  sky  are  not  thick  enough 
to  obscure  the  radiant  sun.  There  is  no  present 
need  of  your  joining  Judge  Gray  at  the  tavern. 
Stay  at  home  with  me.  I  know  you  would  rather." 


MORE    CONTENTION.  87 

*  You  utter  but  the  simple  truth  in  that,"  said  the 
doctor,  feelingly. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,  and  I  will  not  let  yon  go." 
And  Mrs.  Penrose  twined  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  laid  her  lips  upon  his  forehead.  As  she  desired, 
so  it  was.  Her  husband  did  not  make  one  of  the 
at  McQuillan's  that  night. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MORE    CONTENTION. 

MR.  ELDRIPGE  never  used  wine  at  his  own  table, 
and  rarely  drank  any  thing  except  when  in  company 
Judge  Gray,  on  the  contrary,  never  sat  down  to  the 
dinner-table  without  his  decanter  of  brandy  as  well 
as  his  bottle  of  wine. 

The  glass  or  two  taken  by  Mr.  Eldridge  before 
dinner,  added  to  the  glass  or  two,  or  three,  drank 
with  the  judge  during  the  meal,  were  rather  too 
much  for  the  sober  balance  of  his  mind.  "When  he 
left  Juilp2  Gray's  house,  somewhere  about  the  mid 
dle  of  the  afternoon,  it  was  in  a  state  of  mental  con 
fusion,  if  not  bodily  weakness.  He  staggered  m 
his  thoughts,  if  not  in  his  steps. 

'"  We  will  see  you  to-night,"  said  the  judge,  grasp- 
iiig  warmly  the  hand  of  Eldridge,  as  the  latter  parted 
from  him  at  his  door. 

"I'll  be  there,"  was  answered,  unhesitatingly, 


88  AVHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

"I'll  have  more  to  tell  you  then,"  said  the  judge, 
"The  scheme  is  a  splendid  one." 

"Dr.  Penrose  is  going  into  it,  you  say?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  among  the  shrewd  ones  of  Arden, 
who  know  what  is  what.' 

"I'll  be  there,  judge,  You  may  depend  on 
me." 

"  That's  right.     Come  early." 

And  the  two  men  shook  hands  with  a  pleased 
heartiness,  as  if  they  were  the  oldest,  the  best,  and 
t.he  most  familiar,  of  friends. 

Eldridge  moved  off  down  the  street,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  blank  pleasure  in  his  face  and  a  watery 
twinkle  in  his  eyes;  while  Judge  Gray,  with  hia 
brows  contracting  in  earnest  thought  and  the  flex 
ible  roundness  of  his  lips  vanishing  in  hard,  selfish 
lines,  returned  slowly  into  his  house. 

Business  connected  with  his  profession  required 
Mr.  Eldridge  to  be  in  his  office ;  and  he  returned 
home  immediately  and  set  himself  to  work  among 
law-books  and  legal  papers.  But  confusion  of  mind, 
consequent  upon  a  too  free  acceptance  of  Judge 
Gray's  hospitalities,  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
fix  his  attention  upon  the  matter  before  him,  and 
most  of  the  afternoon  was,  consequently,  passed  in 
half-dreamy  reveries,  in  which  plans  for  a  sudden 
increase  of  wealth  mingled  with  troubled  thoughts 
of  home. 

Toward  evening  the  mind  of  Mr.  Eldridge  grew 
clearer  and  his  feelings  calmer.  The  bright  colors 
in  which  the  schemes  of  Judge  Gray  had  shone  with 


MORE    CONTENTION.  89 

a  fascinating  lustre  gradually  faded,  and  showed 
some  features  in  the  prospect  that  were  to  his  eyes 
far  from  attractive.  "Were  it  not  that  he  had  passed 
his  word  to  bo  at  McQuillan's,  he  would  have  reso 
lutely  determined  not  to  go.  Even  under  this  pro 
mise  he  hesitated  in  his  thoughts,  and  seriously 
considered  the  propriety  of  absenting  himself  from 
the  meeting  that  was  arranged  to  take  place  at  the 
village  tavern.  Some  reminiscences  of  his  previous 
;uight  there  did  not  leave  the  most  pleasant  impres 
sion  on  his  mind ;  nor  were  all  the  personages  he 
met  there,  who  appeared  to  be  "  hand-and-glove" 
with  the  judge,  just  the  kind  of  individuals  whose 
acquaintanceship  was  most  agreeable. 

"I'm  half  inclined  to  break  my  word,"  he  said, 
as  he  aroused  himself  from  a  deep  reverie,  and 
noticed  that  twilight  was  dimly  falling,  and  the  day 
fast  retiring  before  night's  approaching  shadows. 
For  some  time  the  usual  sounds  of  disorder  and 
wrangling  among  the  children  had  vexed  his  ears, 
though  it  had  not  much  diverted  his  thoughts.  But 
now  the  increasing  turbulence  and  sharper  thrill  of 
excited  voices  caused  him  to  leave  his  office  and  go 
toward  the  scene  of  strife.  As  he  stepped  into  the 
passage  the  street  door  was  quietly  opened,  and  hia 
wife,  bonneted  and  shawled,  glided  in  with  a  quick, 
noiseless  step. 

"Harriet!"  he  ejaculated,  in  sudden  surprise. 
Mr.  Eldridge  was  not  before  aware  that  his  wife  had 
Been  absent  from  home  during  the  afternoon. 

She  stopped  suddenly,  with  a  confused  air;  and 

8* 


90  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

even  in  the  dusky  light  the  deep  crimson  of  her  face 
was  partly  visible. 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  home,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"You  don't  always  think  right,"  was  answered,  in 
a  voice  of  ill-disguised  contempt. 

"Where  have  you  been?" 

The  husband's  tones  were  far  too  imperative  for 
the  temper  of  hi?  wife. 

"Just  where  I  pleased  to  go,"  sharply  answered 
Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"You  may  go  once  too  often.     Take  care!" 

"Take  care  of  what?" 

"  There  are  consequences  in  the  future,  it  maybe, 
of  which  you  have  not  dreamed,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge, 
with  a  calmness  of  voice  that  sent  a  chill  along  the 
nerves  of  his  wife.  But  her  temper  was  not  of  the 
yielding  quality  ;  and  no  fear  of  consequences,  seen 
or  unseen,  had  power  to  break  the  iron  firmness  of 
her  will. 

"  I'm  no  child  to  be  frightened  by  your  bugaboos, 
was  sneeringly  answered ;  "  nor  a  superstitious  weak 
ling  to   tremble   at   any  man's   oracular   nothings. 
Speak  out,  if  you  have  any  thing  to  say.     "What 
consequences  ?" 

"Harriet!" 

There  was  warning  in  the  voice  of  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"Morgan  !"     Mrs.  Eldridge  mimicked  his  tone. 

"  If  you  visit  that  Mrs.  Glendy  again,  I  will     •    •  " 

lie  paused,  the  threatened  consequences  un- 
Broken. 

"  Say  on/'  calmly  returned  his  wife. 


STEPS   TO   RUIN.  91 

"I'll— I'll " 

But  returning  self-control  prevented  the  utterance 
of  words  that  might  have  wrought  a  separation. 

A  little  while  the  unhappy  couple  stood  silently 
scowling  upon  each  other;  then  Mr.  Eldridge  stepped 
back  into  his  office,  and  his  wife  kept  on  her  way 
to  her  chamber. 

"  Oh,  foolish,  foolish  woman !"  ejaculated  the 
miserable  husband,  as  he  shut  the  door  of  his  office. 
"  What  evil  spirit  is  driving  you  madly  on  to  ruin 
your  own  peace  and  that  of  all  to  whom  you  bear 
intimate  relation?" 


CHAPTER  X. 

STEPS   TO   KUIN. 

THE  meeting  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  at  the 
supper-table  was  distant  and  formal.  In  one  thing 
there  was  concord  between  them,  and  that  was  in  a 
calm,  stern  repression  of  all  turbulence  among  the 
children.  Neither  was  in  a  mood  to  be  trifled  with: 
that  the  young  rebels  saw,  and  wisely  forebore  tc 
draw  down  upon  themselves  certain  punishment. 

The  few  sharp  words  which  passed  between  the 
husband  and  wife  at  their  meeting  a  little  while 
before  had  crafed  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Eldridge  ex 
ceedingly.  The  wine  taken  at  Judge  Gray's  had  left 
a  portion  of  its  inflammable  qualities  in  his  blood, 


92  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO  ? 

dimmed  the  wiser  perceptions  of  his  mind,  anr* 
weakened  his  self-control.  It  was  remarkable  how, 
under  the  circumstances,  he  had  managed  to  guard 
himself  in  his  exciting  interview  with  his  fretted 
companion  on  meeting  her  in  the  passage  a  little 
while  before. 

A  multitude  of  thoughts  crowded  through,  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Eldridge  as  he  sat  at  the  tea-table, 
feigning  to  eat  rather  than  really  partaking  of  food. 
Several  times  words  formed  themselves  in  his  mind, 
and  were  about  leaping  into  impulsive  expressions, 
when  he  checked  the  purpose  to  speak  and  bit  his 
lips  in  forced  silence. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  showed  no  inclination  to  let  her 
thoughts  pass  beyond  her  own  keeping. 

The  meal  ended,  husband  and  wife  retired, — one 
to  his  office  and  the  other  to  her  own  apartment. 

"  Shall  I  go,  or  not  ?"  This  was  the  mental  in 
quiry  of  Eldridge  as  he  seated  himself  in  his  *'ffice- 
chair.  A  long  time  he  held  the  question  in  even 
debate.  One  word  from  a  loving  wife,  one  /lance 
from  her  tender  eyes,  one  smile  from  hei  lips, 
would  have  ended  the  contest.  All  the  att;  active 
features  of  Judge  Gray's  proposals  would  have 
changed  instantly,  by  contrast,  into  what  wa?  repul 
sive.  But  he  had  no  guardian-angel  to  walk  by  his 
side  through  the  world.  He  stood  solitarj  in  hia 
conflict,  repulsed  from  his  own  fireside, — dri*»*-i  out 
to  meet  temptation,  instead  of  being  held  back  <ix>m 
danger  by  the  strong  hand  of  love. 

An  hour  after  leaving  the  tea-table,  we  fine5  him 


STEPS    TO   RUIN.  93 

amid  a  company  of  five  well-known  personages  in 
Arden.  seated  around  a  table  in  a  private  room  at. 
McQuillan's  tavern,  on  which  are  glasses,  wine, 
brandy,  cigars,  and  a  quire  of  writing-paper,  with 
pens  and  ink.  Judge  Gray  occupied  a  seat  at  the 
table,  and  was,  as  could  be  seen  at  a  glance,  the 
leading  spirit  of  the  party.  Dr.  Penrose  was  not 
there.  His  absence  seemed  particularly  to  be  re 
gretted  by  the  judge,  who  had  promised  him  to  the 
company  and  was  still  confident  that  he  would  make 
his  appearance. 

The  first  business  in  order  was  the  examination  of 
a  scheme  for  making  a  large  sum  of  money,  which 
the  judge  had  proposed,  and  which  he  now  laid  be 
fore  the  company  in  detail.  An  extensive  tract  of 
land,  on  the  north  side  of  the  town,  lay  just  at  the 
terminus  of  a  projected  railroad  from  the  capital  of 
the  State  to  Arden,  and  thence  through  a  wealthy 
district  of  country  to  the  main  line  of  railroads  lead 
ing  to  Atlantic  cities.  This  tract  of  land  was  to  be 
purchased  from  the  present  owner,  who  was  igno 
rant  of  the  railroad  schemes,  and  therefore  ignorant 
of  the  prospective  value  of  his  laud. 

"  Forty  dollars  an  acre  will  buy  this  piece  of  land,' 
eaid  the  judge,  confidently.     "It  is  not   good  for 
much  as  farming-soil,  but  will  yield  a  golden  harvest 
a  few  years  hence,  when  cropped  with  houses  and 
manufactories,  as  it  surely  will  be." 

"How  many  acres  does  it  contain?"  asked  tl- 
dridge. 

"  Six  hundred." 


94  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

"  It  will  cost  twenty-four  thousand  dollars." 

"Yes.  But  liberal  time  can  be  secured;  and, 
long  before  half  the  payments  are  due,  the  sale  of 
one-sixth  of  the  land  will  meet  the  whole  liability." 

"Will  this  railroad  ever  be  constructed?"  wa.i 
inquired. 

"In  less  than  two  years  you  will  hear  the  locomo 
tive's  scream  every  hour  in  Arden,"  confidently 
replied  the  judge.  "I  know,  intimately,  the  men 
who  have  taken  the  matter  in  hand.  They  own 
thousands  of  acres  on  the  projected  line,  and  wield 
almost  unlimited  influence  in  our  legislature.  The 
charter  is  already  drawn,  leading  capitalists  are 
already  pledged  for  half  the  stock,  and  the  go 
vernor's  word  is  passed  to  sign  the  bill.  I  had  let 
ters  from  friends  at  the  capital  yesterday,  which  give 
positive  assurance  that  in  less  than  a  month  the 
charter  will  be  a  legal  instrument  and  the  route  put 
under  survey." 

"  The  engineers  may  designate  a  route  that  will 
not  include  Arden  in  the  benefits  of  the  road,"  said 
Mr.  Eldridge. 

"No  danger  of  that.     We  are  on  the  air-line." 

"Powerful  local  interests  may  bend  the  line," 
remarked  Eldridge. 

"  Not  away  from  Arden.  I  know  all  the  interests 
at  stake,  and  am  so  confident  that  the  road  will  be 
here  in  less  than  twenty-four  months  that  I  shall 
risk  all  I  am  worth  in  property  speculations.  Send 
that  bottle  along,  Craig." 

The  individual  addressed  in  the  last  sentence  waa 


STEPS   TO   RUIN.  96 

er.gnged  in  cutting  the  cork  of  a  champagne-bottle, 
the  "pop"  of  which  was  just  then  heard.  All  the 
glasses  around  the  table  were  filled,  and  all  drank  to 
the  sentiment  of  Judge  Gray: — "The  new  times  in 
Arden." 

Before  the  exhilarating  influences  of  this  bottle 
had  subsided,  the  individuals  present  resolved  them 
selves  into  a  land  association,  with  Judge  Gray  as 
president  and  Eldridge  as  secretary,  and  voted  to 
purchase  the  tract  of  six  hundred  acres  just  re 
ferred  to. 

"We'll  put  you  down  for  a  hundred  acres?"  said 
J  udge  Gray,  addressing  Eldridge. 

"Thank  you,  judge,"  returned  the  lawyer;  "but 
you  are  far  too  liberal.  Twenty  acres  will  come  up 
to  my  ability." 

"Nonsense!  I'll  write  down  a  hundred.  "Why, 
man,  you  don't  know  on  which  side  your  bread  is 
buttered !  As  secretary  of  our  association,  your  in 
terests  should  at  least  be  half  of  mine  ;  and  I  want 
twc  hundred  acres.  Say  a  hundred !"  And  the 
judge  leaned  over  toward  Eldridge,  and  spoke  in  a 
lower  tone : — "  Say  a  hundred.  If  it  should  crowd 
ou  I'll  take  the  purchase  off  of  your  hands." 

"Very  well ;  put  rue  down  for  a  hundred  acres," 
replied  Eldridge,  into  whose  head  the  champagne- 
fumes  were  rising. 

The  remaining  three  hundred  were  distributed 
between  the  balance  of  the  company,  in  portions:  ot 
fifty  acres  each.  A  few  formal  rules  and  regulations 
for  the  government  of  the  company  were  next 


96  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

adopted ;  and  then,  after  an  idle  half-hour  devoted 
to  smoking,  drinking,  and  political  disquisitions,  a 
couple  of  packs  of  cards  were  thrown  upon  the 
table,  asxthe  signal  for  a  new  diversion. 

"You  must  excuse  me,"  said  Eldridge,  rising,  and 
making  a  movement  to  leave  the  table.  Confused 
as?  his  thoughts  were  by  the  liquor  he  had  taken,  the 
better  principles  by  which  his  conduct  in  life  had 
been  governed  were  shocked  at  the  sight  of  cards 
introduced  under  the- circumstances. 

"You  are  the  last  man  to  be  excused  to-night," 
said  Judge  Gray,  imperatively,  yet  in  a  pleasant  way, 
as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  Eldridge  and 
forced  him  back  into  his  chair.  The  latter  had  little 
power  of  resistance  left,  and  so  yielded  to  the  force 
of  a  stronger  will. 

It  was  midnight  when  Eldridge  found  his  way 
home,  none  the  happier  for  the  evening's  deeds  and 
experiences.  He  was  neither  a  wiser  nor  a  better 
man.  From  the  safe  path  in  which  he  had  thus  far 
trodden  with  a  manly  sense  of  rectitude  he  had 
stepped  aside,  and,  in  doing  so,  had  become  con 
scious  of  the  instant  presence  of  an  evil-alluring 
power,  against  the  force  of  which  human  strength 
was  little  more  than  weakness.  He  had  not  only 
played  at  cards  for  money,  but  had  been  the  winner 
by  over  a  hundred  dollars  at  one  time  during  the 
evening  and  been  greatly  elated  at  the  result.  lie 
did  not  come  away  in  so  good  a  condition  pecu 
niarily,  having  lost  these  winnings  and  ovei  two 


STEPS    TO    RUIN.  97 

hundred  dollars  besides,  for  which  the  man  Craig 
held  his  obligation  as  a  "debt  of  honor." 

All  was  silent  within,  as  Eldridge  groped  his  way 
along  the  dark  passage  and  up  the  stairs.  In  passing 
the  sitting-room,  a  thin  ray  of  light  glanced  through 
a  Slight  crevice  in  the  door,  and  he  opened  it  and 
stepped  into  the  apartment.  The  lamp  was  just 
dying  out;  but  there  was  light  enough  to  show  him 
bis  wife  sitting  asleep  in  an  easy-chair,  and  upon  the 
table  a  decanter  and  three  wine-glasses,  with  remains 
of  fruit  and  cake.  She  had  not  spent  the  evening 
alone.  But  who  were  her  visitors  ? 

The  thought  and  inquiry,  after  the  occurrences  of 
the  previous  day,  stung  the  mind  of  Eldridge  into 
vague  suspicion.  A  few  moments  he  stood,  silently 
gazing  upon  his  unconscious  wife,  and  then  left  the 
room  with  noiseless  steps  and  went  to  his  chamber. 
She  never  knew  at  what  hour  he  came  home  that 
night,  nor  did  he  know  when  she  awoke  in  the  dark 
sitting-room  and  groped  her  way  to  their  chamber; 
for  touching  the  events  of  the  evening  neither 
of  the  other. 


WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   TEMPTER. 

MORE  reserved  and  formal  than  on  the  previous 
evening  was  the  intercourse  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eldridge 
when  they  met  at  the  breakiast-table.  They  scarcely 
looked  into  each  other's  faces,  even  while  uttering 
the  few  brief  sentences  that  passed  their  lips;  and 
each  felt  relieved  when  the  meaJ  was  over. 

As  for  Mr.  Eldridge,  his  thoughts,  usually  so  clear, 
were  now  in  a  maze.  Nothing  upon  which  he  looked 
presented  the  usual  aspect.  Suddenly  he  had  be^orno 
changed,  or  all  things  had  assumed  new  relations. 
He  went  into  his  office  and  made  a  formal  eflbrt  to 
take  up  the  business  of  the  day.  He  had  cases  on 
hand  requiring  a  clear  head  and  the  most  earnest 
concentration  of  thought,  and  he  tried  to  think 
about  them;  but  thought  wandered  off  in  other 
directions,  truant  to  duty. 

How  could  it  be  otherwise,  after  the  occurrences 
cf  the  previous  day  and  evening?  For  nearly  half 
en  hour  he  strove  with  himself,  trying  to  gather  up 
the  broken  threads  of  interest  in  the  cases  referred 
to;  then,  pushing  the  papers  aside  with  a  kind  :jf 
jfcsperate  movement,  he  started  up  from  tLe  table  at 
which  he  was  seated,  muttering  to  himself, — 

"The  liend  take  all  law  for  the  present!" 


THE   TEMPTER.  99 

He  moved  about  the  room  uneasily  for  several 
minutes.  Then  he  sat  down  again,  with  his  mind 
all  absorbed  in  other  subjects.  The  gaming-debt  to 
Craig  and  the  conduct  of  his  wife  were  sources  of 
trouble  not  unmingled  with  feelings  of  humiliation; 
but  the  hope  inspired  by  Judge  Gray's  confident 
predictions  in  regard  to  the  future  value  of  the  land 
in  which  he  was  to  be  a  large  shareholder  lifted  his 
feelings  into  a  pleasanter  region.  He  saw  the  rail 
road  in  progress  and  rapidly  extending  its  iron  bands 
toward  Arden.  The  thunder  of  the  locomotive  was 
in  his  ears,  the  jars  of  its  vigorous  motion  thrilling 
along  every  nerve.  Where  now  the  old  mill  lifted 
its  brown  roof  in  the  sluggish  air,  and  the  lazy  wheel 
glistened  in  the  sunshine  that  made  rainbows  of  hope 
above  and  around  it,  arose  before  his  vision  long 
ranges  of  stores;  and  away  over  the  fields,  now 
waving  with  grain  or  dark  with  forest-trees,  he  saw 
stately  dwellings  springing  up  as  if  by  magic.  And 
in  all  these  tokens  of  wealth  and  prosperity  he  had 

\  liberal  share. 

How  dull  and  plodding  seemed  the  way  along 
which  the  lawyer  had  come  thus  far  in  life!  The 
fees  of  his  profession  looked  small,  even  to  the  .stir 
ring  of  contempt,  when  he  counted  their  slow  ag 
gregation  and  viewed  them  in  connection  with  his 
newly-inspired  ambition.  There  was  a  shorter  and 
more  royal  road  to  wealth;  and,  thanks  to  a  good 

Jortune,  he  had  discovered  the  way  at  last. 

With  such  fancies  he  dallied  until  all  interest  in 

the  cases  that  demanded  his  present  and  most  earnest 


WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

thought  was  gone,  and  he  folded  up  the  papers  on 
his  table  and  returned  them  to  the  repositories  from 
which  they  had  been  taken  a  little  while  earlier. 
It  was  yet  an  hour  before  court  opened.  With  no 
defined  purpose  in  his  thought,  he  went  forth;  and 
yet,  as  if  by  instinct,  he  moved  away  in  the  direction 
of  the  old  mill  property,  in  which  lay  hidden  a  mine 
of  wealth  whose  existence  was  only  known  to  a  select 
few  in  Arden.  As  he  walked  along,  there  came  to 
him  a  vivid  remembrance  of  his  gaming-debt  to 
Craig.  He  had  not  really  forgotten  it;  but  another 
and  more  inspiring  subject  had  dimmed  it  over  for 
a  little  while.  With  the  remembrance  came  a  feeling 
of  contempt  for  the  man  whom  he  had  always  re 
garded  as  inferior  to  himself  in  all  respects,  mingled 
with  a  slight  sense  of  mortification  at  having  been 
the  loser  in  a  contest  with  one  in  so  few  respects  his 
equal. 

"There  will  have  to  be  another  trial  of  skill,"  he 
thought,  rather  than  uttered.  How  reluctantly  did 
his  mind  come  to  this  conclusion ! — yet  scarcely  was 
it  formed  ere  the  man  to  whom  it  referred  was  seen 
a  little  way  in  advance.  Eldridge  quickened  hii 
steps,  and  was  in  a  few  moments  by  his  side.  Thoh 
greetings  were  brief  and  not  over-cordial,  and  both 
seemed  a  little  embarrassed.  Craig  was  the  first  t  j 
gain  entire  self-possession. 

"I  don't  think  you  were  just  yourself  last  night," 
said  he,  after  a  few  commonplace  words  had  passed 
between,  them.  "You  are  really  a  better  player  than 


THE   TEMPTER.  101 

1  am.     Our  new  speculations  must  have  bewildered 


"Of  course,"  replied  Eldridge,  "I  cannot  say  that 
I  am  satisfied  either  with  the  result  or  myself.  I  am 
no  professional  card-player;  yet  I  have  some  skill  in 
that  direction." 

"Luck  only  was  against  you,"  answered  Craig, 
einiling.  "I  had  no  hope  of  coming  out  the  winner, 
and  shall  be  rather  chary  of  another  contest." 

"It  will  most  probably  have  to  come,"  said  El 
dridge  ;  "  for  I  am  not  the  man  to  give  up  in  any 
struggle.  Pride,  if  no  other  influence,  ever  quic  :ens 
me  to  renewed  effort.  I  think  we  shall  try  it  agi.in." 

"I'm  not  ambitious  for  a  new  encounter,"  returned 
Craig.  "'Let  well  enough  alone'  is  one  of  my 
mottoes.  Still,  as  you  are  the  loser,  a  principle  of 
honor  will  not  permit  me  to  refuse  another  trial." 

"When   shall  it  be?"  inquired   Eldridge,  whose 
thoughts  were  now  all  interested  in  a  new  and  dan 
gerous  direction. 

"I  am  always  at  your  service,"  was  the  prompt 
answer.  "Will  you  be  at  McQuillan's  to-night?" 

"Yes." 

"  So  will  I.    There  can  be  no  better  time  or  place." 

The  two  men  walked  on  for  a  few  rods  in  silence. 

"Are  you  particularly  engaged  this  morning?" 
inquired  Eldridge. 

"No.  Why  do  you  ask?"  The  question  was  put 
with  seeming  indifference. 

Some  moments  passed  before  the  lawyer  replied 
Then  he  said,  — 

9* 


102  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"I'm  a  little  too  eager  at  times.  But  it  is  my 
temperament.  I  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot: — some 
times  well  sometimes  wide  of  the  mark.  Still,  I 
must  strike:  it's  my  nature." 

"Prompt  men  are  the  world's  benefactors,"  sail 
Craig,  sententiously. 

"True  in  a  certain  sense.  Yet  they  often  mai 
their  fortunes  by  a  single  hurried  stroke  of  bad 
policy.  But  I  won't  moralize.  What  I  was  going 
to  say  is  this: — I  don't  just  like  waiting  for  that  re 
newed  trial  of  skill  until  this  evening.  Why  not  let 
it  come  now  ?  I'm  at  your  service." 

"And  I  at  yours,"  replied  Craig,  with  a  heartiness 
of  tone  that  betrayed  the  pleasure  he  felt  at  the 
challenge. 

"When  shall  it  be?"  asked  Eldridge. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Craig,  "you  have  a  case  in  court 
this  morning  ?" 

"None  that  will  suffer  by  my  absence.  No;  I 
must  get  this  little  matter  off  my  thoughts  first.  I'm 
a  peculiar  man,  you  see,  and  can't  wait  when  I  get 
very  earnest  on  any  subject.  My  purposes  never 
linger.  I  strike,  as  I  said  before,  while  the  iron  i 
Lot," 

"Suppose,"  said  Craig,  "we  ride  out  to  Newton's! 
1  have  a  horse  and  wagon  at  Green's  stables." 

"That  will  do,"  was  promptly  answered. 

"Where  shall  I  call  for  you  ?" 

"Nowhere.  I'll  walk  round  to  the  stables  with 
you." 

"Very  well,"  was  uttered,  low  down  in  the  throat 


THE   TEMPTER.  108 

of  Craig,  over  whose  usually-pleasant,  half-indolent, 
aimless  countenance  an  observer  could  have  seen, 
the  passage  of  a  singular  change.  ISTo  one  who 
etudisd  the  lines  of  that  countenance  now  would 
have  said  that  he  was  an  aimless  man,  or  one  with 
out  a  vigorous  \  urpose.  He  partly  averted  his  face, 
as  it  aware  that  his  real  character  was  revealing 
itself. 

The  steps  of  the  two  men  were  visibly  accelerated 
as  they  walked  on  in  the  direction  of  Green's  stables. 
A  little  while  Craig  was  silent;  then  he  seemed  to 
force  himself  to  speak,  (and  he  did  act  under  self- 
compulsion,)  referring,  in  a  kind  of  absent  way,  to 
the  railroad  project  discussed  on  the  previous  even 
ing,  and  to  the  fortunes  it  would  make  for  a  certain 
favored  few  in  Arden  the  moment  it  became  a  law. 
To  this  Eldridge  responded  in  words, —  not  in 
thoughts.  The  latter  were  now  too  deeply  interested 
in  another  subject. 

At  the  stable  Eldridge  was  left  alone  for  some 
minutes,  while  Craig  conferred  with  the  hostler  and 
got  all  things  ready  for  the  drive.  The  recollection, 
during  that  short  period,  of  certain  matters  of  busi 
ness  to  wh  jh  he  had  promised  to  give  attention  tha 
morning,  caused  him  to  waver;  and,  when  the  hors*» 
and  wagon  was  driven  out,  he  said,  in  a  hesitating 
manner,  to  Craig, — 

"  I'm  really  afraid,  now,  that  I  cannot  go  with  you 
this  morning.  I  had  forgotten  a  case  that  will  cer 
tainly  be  reached  on  the  docket;  and  when  it  ii 
I  must  be  in  court." 


104  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

"Just  as  you  please,"  was  pleasantly,  almost  in 
differently,  answered.  "Any  time  will  suit  me.  I'm 
on  the  safe  side: — all  right,  you  know."  And  he 
glanced  at  Eldridge  from  the  corners  of  his  eves 
with  a  tantalizing  leer.  "'A  bird  in  the  hand  is 
worth  two  in  the  bush'  is  an  old,  safe  motto.  Hav 
ing  the  bird  in  the  hand,  I  shall  not  trouble  myself 
about  the  two  hopping  in  the  bush: — eh?" 

Eldridge  stood  irresolute  for  some  moments,  hia 
eyes  cast  upon  the  ground.  His  business  duties 
were  claiming  his  attention  on  one  side,  and  strongly 
urging  him  to  return  to  his  office  and  make  the 
needed  preparation  to  go  into  court ;  on  the  other 
side,  the  desire  to  recover  from  Craig  the  two  hun 
dred  dollars  lost  to  him  on  the  previous  evening  was 
so  earnest  that  resistance  seemed  almost  impossible. 
The  entire  indifference  manifested  by  Craig  at  this 
stage  of  affairs  rather  favored  his  inclinings ;  for  it 
was  conclusive  that  the  winner  of  the  night  before 
had  no  very  strong  confidence  in  the  result  of  an 
other  trial  under  different  circumstances. 

"I  can't  afford  to  lose  two  hundred  dollars."  Thus 
Eldridge  talked,  hurriedly,  with  himself,  as  he  still 
stood  looking  upon  the  ground.  "Last  night  my 
hoad  was  confused  by  Judge  Gray's  champagne;  it 
is  clear  now.  The  odds  were  against  me  last  nigLt; 
they  are  in  my  favor  now.  Two  hundred  dollars  are 
tot  to  be  made  every  day ; — not,  certainly,  to-day,  in 
court.  If  the  case  goes  against  my  client  the  loss  to 
him  w^n't  be  much.  I  can  pay  him  for  what  be 


SUSPICION  AWAKENED.  105 

loses  by  my  absence  from  court,  and  still  call  the 
morning's  business  a  good  one.*' 

"I'll  go  with  yon,"  he  said,  looking  up  from  the 
ground,  while  a  light  flashed  over  his  countenance. 

"Jump  in,  then,"  answered  Craig,  who  showed 
neitl  er  surprise  nor  pleasure  at  the  lawyer's  decision. 
A  moment  after,  and  the  fleet  horse  bounded  away; 
and  soon  the  two  men  left  Arden  far  behind  them. 


CHAPTEB  XH. 

SUSPICION   AWAKENED. 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  returned 
to  Arden.  Very  different  was  their  appearance  in 
aspect  and  carriage  as  they  rode  into  the  town. 
Craig  sat  erect,  calm,  self-possessed ;  while  Eldridge 
was  almost  crouching  at  his  side,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground,  the  lines  of  his  face  all  relaxed,  and  his 
hands  grasping  the  seat  and  side  of  the  buggy,  like 
f>ne  who  felt  himself  insecure. 

"Shall  I  drive  to  your  office?"  inquired  the 
former,  in  an  even,  courteous  voice,  as  they  entered 
the  outskirts  of  the  village. 

"No!  no!"  was  replied,  with  a  sudden,  nervous 
start.  "Leave  me  at  the  stable;  I'll  walk  homo 
from  there." 

Craig  drew  upon  one  rein,  and  the  vehicle  swept 
around  from  'he  main  street. 


1<T0  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"Shall  wo  see  you  at  McQuillan's  to-night?"  in 
quired  Croig,  in  a  soft,  inviting  tone,  as  Eld  ridge 
stepped  from  the  buggy  a  few  moments  after 
ward. 

"No,"  was  the  emphatic  answer. 

"The  judge  will  expect  you,"  said  the  other,  in 
the  same  pleasant,  insinuating  voice. 

"He  won't  see  me  if  he  does,"  was  answered, 
almost  rudely.  "I  shall  remain  at  home  to-night." 

"You  are  secretary  of  the  Land  Company,  re 
member,"  suggested  the  tempter.  "Last  night's 
meeting  was  only  a  preliminary  one.  Some  thinga 
of  importance  are  to  be  done  this  evening." 

"I  can't  help  it.  You  and  the  judge,  and  the 
rest  of  you,  must  do  these  things  to  suit  yourselves. 
I  shall  not  be  there." 

"  You'll  think  better  of  it  after  tea ;  particularly 
when  Judge  Gray  calls  around  for  you,  as  he 
certainly  will  when  I  inform  him  that  you  do  not 
intend  being  at  your  post.  He'll  not  consent  to  the 
secretary's  absence,  unless  there  be  life  and  death  i  i 
the  case." 

"  The  secretary  can  resign, — and  will,  if  need  be," 
said  Eldridge,  gruffly. 

"He'll  do  no  such  thing,"  was  smilingly  answered, 
"  Come,  brighten  up,  my  friend.  It  is  always  dai  k(  st 
just  before  daylight.  Don't  look  as  if  you'd  lost 
every  thing  worth  having  in  the  world,  when  so 
light  a  thing  as  the  turning  up  of  a  card  may  give 
you,  some  day,  a  fortune.  You  are  about  the  hardest 
customer  I've  met  with  in  a  year,  and  more  than  a 


SUSPICION   AWAKENED.  107 

match  for  me.     I'm  only  indebted  to  a  run  of  good 
luck  for  my  present  advantage." 

"Good-evening!"  said  Eldridge,  in  a  half-anspy, 
half-contemptuous  manner,  as  he  turned  oft'  rudely 
from  his  companion. 

"Good-evening,"  returned  Craig,  in  a  voice  the 
most  courteous  imaginable.  As  the  lawyer  went 
plunging  away  in  an  unsteady,  desperate  kind  of 
pace,  Craig  stood  gazing  after  him  with  a  sinister 
expression  of  countenance. 

"I'm  not  done  yet,  friend  Eldridge,"  he  muttered, 
the  parting  lips  showing  his  white  teeth,  that  glis 
tened  like  the  fangs  of  some  beast  of  prey.  "Men 
of  your  temperament  are  just  the  game.  "We  have 
to  play  you  the  line  right  freely;  but,  the  bait  once 
taken,  as  it  now  is,  and  we  are  sure  to  bring  you  to 
land.  Won't  be  at  McQuillan's?  We'll  see  about 
that!" 

Nearly  eight  hours  had  passed  since  Eldridge  l<;ft 
his  home  in  the  morning: — eight  hours,  most  of 
which  had  glided  by  like  so  many  minutes ;  ei<  ht 
hours,  nearly  all  of  which  had  been  spent  in  the 
eager  excitement  of  play.  The  result  has  bten 
guessed  by  the  reader.  Instead  of  winning  b&ek 
his  two  hundred  dollars,  Eldridge  is  the  further 
loser  of  seven  hundred;  and,  worse  than  that,  <he 
loser,  in  an  equal  ratio,  of  conscience  and  principle. 
When  cards  were  introduced  on  the  i.ight  before  at 
McQuillan's,  his  moral  sense  experienced  a  shock. 
No  ethical  question  now  intruded  itself.  It 
limply  the  relation  of  loss  and  gain.  He  had 


108  WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

as  eagerly  as  any  professional  card-player  to  get  the 
money  of  his  opponent,  and  experienced  a  real  plea- 
si]  *c  in  the  thought  of  not  only  recovering  his  own 
but  winning  a  handsome  sum  from  his  antagonist; 
and  now  he  suffered  more  from  the  thought  of 
having  lost  in  the  contest  than  from  any  troubled 
sense  of  wrong-doing.  His  wily  adversar}-  had  xnot 
failed  to  take  more  than  one  advantage  over  him. 
The  first  and  leading  one,  and  that  which  made  all 
the  rest  easy,  was  to  induce  him  to  drink  a  glass  of 
mixed  brandy  on  their  arrival  at  Newton's  tavern. 
Eldridge  saw  not  the  telegraphic  glances  that  passed 
between  Craig  and  the  bar-keeper,  and  never  for 
an  instant  suspected  the  truth  that,  while  his  glass 
was  doubly  strengthened  with  fourth-proof  brandy, 
that  of  his  companion  was  scarcely  colored  with  the 
fiery  liquor. 

The  contest  between  the  two  men  had  not  been 
an  equal  one  by  any  means.  Even  with  a  fair  an 
tagonist  Eldridge  did  not  stand  on  even  ground; 
for  his  mind,  for  most  of  the  day,  was  beclouded 
from  the  cause  just  alleged,  while  that  of  his  adver 
sary  was  clear  from  the  beginning.  He  was  not, 
therefore,  in  a  condition  to  detect  the  numerous 
little  frauds  passed  upon  him  with  the  stealthy  art 
of  a  professional  gambler, — frauds  that  told  fatally 
in  the  result  of  almost  every  game. 

As  Eldridge  moved  along  in  the  direction  of  his 
home,  he  felt  like  one  breathing  in  a  stifling  atmo 
sphere.  He  had  never  experienced  sensations  like 
those  now  oppressing  him.  The  very  earth  seernod 


SUSPICION   AWAKENED.  109 

ansteady  beneath  his  feet.  He  hurried  on,  eager  to 
reach  his  own  door  and  pass  within  to  a  place  of 
safety, — eager  to  hide  from  observation  that  he 
might  hold  with  himself  undisturbed  intercourse. 

Love  of  home  was  a  strong  peculiarity  in  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Eldridge;  and,  with  all  the  uninviting 
features  of  his  domestic  life,  thought  and  feeling 
ever  turned  homeward,  and  the  more  earnestly  if 
any  trouble  assailed  him.  In  early  manhood,  and 
before  his  marriage,  what  lovely  pictures  of  home- 
joys  and  home-comforts  did  imagination  draw !  The 
cheerful  hearth-fire,  the  pictured  room,  and  the 
loving,  tender,  true-hearted  life-companion, — how 
often  were  these  represented,  and  how  fondly  dwelt 
upon!  Honor,  gain,  ambition,  held  up  their  em 
blazoned  shields  before  him ;  but  their  glitter  could 
not  win  his  eyes  fmm  this  picture  nor  dim  its  ex 
ceeding  brightness.  And  when,  lured  by  external 
attractions  that  concealed  much  of  her  real  quality, 
he  selected  from  among  the  maidens  one  to  share 
with  him  the  good  and  evil  of  life,  his  happy  eyes 
looked  with  a  new  delight  on  the  prospective  home, 
and  the  fair  form  that  made  it  a  real  paradise  had 
no  longer  a  shadowy  face,  but  the  sweet,  loving 
countenance  of  his  chosen. 

The  power  of  a  woman  over  such  a  man  is  almost 
aulimited.  She  will  be  his  good  angel,  leading  him 
through  home-affections  safely  on  his  way  through 
this  world  and  upward  to  the  world  of  eternal  feli 
city,  or  she  will  be  an  evil  spirit,  to  fret  and  chafe 
and  mar  the  good  and  beautiful  within  his  soul, 

10 


110  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

and,  pcrchauce,  drag  him  down  to  tlie  habita'ions 
of  endless  wretchedness.  If  she  be  loving,  true, 
and  unselfish,  she  will  be  the  angel  of  his  home;  if 
fretful,  hasty,  unsympathizing,  selfish,  the  evil  spirit 
of  his  household, — wretched  herself,  and  making  all 
unhappy  around  her. 

An  error  like  that  just  committed  by  Eldridge 
never  would  have  been  made  if  all  had  been  right 
at  home.  No  temptation  would  have  been  strong 
enough  to  lure  him  away  from  that  haven  of  peace 
and  safety.  And  now,  when  the  threshold  of  his 
dwelling  was  crossed  and  the  door  shut  behind  him. 
lie  felt  a  sense  of  relief,  and  the  awakening  of  truer, 
better  thoughts  and  purposes  than  any  he  had  ex 
perienced  for  hours. 

If  ever  in  his  life  Eldridge  needed  the  tender, 
eoothing  ministrations  of  a  loving  spirit,  it  was  on, 
this  particular  occasion.  If  ever  true  home-attrac 
tions  were  needed  to  hold  a  man  back  from  the 
path  of  danger  into  which  his  feet  had  almost  un 
wittingly  strayed,  it  was  now.  Strongly  disturbed 
was  the  equilibrium  of  his  moral  life;  the  even 
balance  was  trembling, — the  preponderance  ready 
to  bear  down  the  side  of  evil  and  throw  the  scale  of 
v5  r*ue  upward  toward  the  beam. 

It  was  perhaps  an  hour  before  the  evening  twi 
light  when  Mr.  Eldridge  entered  his  home  and 
passed  hurriedly  into  his  office.  He  sat  down  at 
his  table,  on  which  lay,  undisturbed,  the  books  and 
papers  left  there  in  the  morning,  and,  leaning  his 
arms  thereon,  bent  down  and  hid  his  face,  breutLing 


SUSPICION   AWAKENED.  Ill 

out,  as  lie  did  so,  a  sigh  that  was  full  of  anguish. 
Thus  alone,  thought  took  up  naturally  a  hurried  re- 
Mew  of  the  day's  doings.  Gradually  the  excitement 
•>f  his  feelings  was  calmed  down,  and,  in  a  state  of 
•learer  rationality,  he  conned  over  the  whole  series 
of  actions  from  the  time  he  left  home  until  his  pre 
sent  return.  The  result  was  self-condemnation  and 
a  clear  conviction  that  he  had  not  been  fairly  dealt 
by.  The  character  of  the  man  with  whom  he  had 
passed  the  day  showed  itself  in  a  new  aspect;  and 
sundry  questions  with  regard  to  him,  which  he  had 
often  asked  of  himself  in  times  past,  were  now  par 
tially  answered. 

"There's  something  clearly  wrong,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  thought  went  out  in  this  new  direction. 
"  Craig  is  not  what  I  have  supposed  him  to  be.  He 
wears  a  face  that  does  not  reflect  his  heart.  Yet  he 
is  on  the  best  of  terms  with  Judge  Gray,  and  is 
constantly  referring  to  him.  Can  it  be  that  they 
are  but  jackal  and  lion  ?" 

This  thought  visibly  excited  Mr.  Eldridge.  It 
was  a  new  suspicion  thrown  into  his  mind,  and  one 
that  he  made  an  effort  to  cast  out. 

"No!  no!"  he  said,  aloud,  as  he  started  up  with 
a  disturbed  manner;  "that  is  impossible.  Judge 
Gray  is  a  man  of  honor,  with  all  his  social  peculiari 
ties.  The  thought,  even,  is  a  great  wrong.  I  will 
not  give  it  place  in  my  mind  for  a  single  moment." 

Still,  he  could  not  turn  wholly  aside  from  the 
conviction;  and  his  mind  kept  recurring  back  to  it 
in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  think  in  a  new  direction, 


112  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

and  questions  like  the  following  would  intrude 
themselves : — 

"  He  certainly  has  shown  a  very  particular  interest 
in  me  all  at  once.  What  is  the  meaning  of  it  I 
What  personal  or  social  sympathy  can  exist  between 
him  and  a  man  like  Craig?  and  yet  they  are  known 
to  be  much  together.  I  can't  understand  it!" 

Thought  continued  busy  for  a  time  longer,  and 
questions  touching  his  future  action  toward  these 
two  men  were  earnestly  debated.  The  conclusions 
of  his  judgment  at  length  found  utterance  in  the 
words, — 

"  Enough  for  me  that  there  is  danger  in  the  asso 
ciation.  It  must  not,  shall  not,  be  continued. 
There  is,  I  fear,  something  not  right  behind  these 
land  schemes.  I  do  not  fancy  the  wine-and-brandy 
part  of  the  business  arrangements,  and  particularly 
object  to  the  cards.  Prospectively,  I  am  already 
thousands  of  dollars  richer  than  I  was;  really,  hun 
dreds  of  dollars  poorer.  I  have  made  large  gains  in 
an  imagined  future,  but  have  lost  seriously  in  the 
real  present.  Morgan  Eldridge,  stop !  Take  not  a 
eingle  step  farther  in  this  direction.  Meet  the  evil 
already  sustained,  and  then  turn  away  from  temp 
tation!'* 

Thus  spoke  out,  with  emphasis,  the  man's  just 
convictions.  His  mind  was  growing  clearer,  hia 
feelings  calmer,  and  judgment  was  rising  into  a 
true  ascendency. 

"I  will  not  go  to  McQuillan's  this  evening!"  he 
Raid,  resolutely.  "Let  them  manage  affairs  in  their 


A    SAD    AFFLICTION.  118 

own  way.  If  all  is  right  about  the  land  speculation, 
Judge  Gray  is  shrewd  enough  to  take  care  of  hia 
own  interests  in  the  matter;  and  if  his  are  secured 
mine  must  be  also.  It  will  be  easy  enough  for  mo 
to  keep  posted  up  in  the  doings  of  the  association." 

"But  3*ou  are  the  secretary,"  came  suggestively 
ILto  his  mind. 

"I  will  send  in  my  resignation  to-morrow,"  was 
answered  to  himself. 

Eldridge  was  entirely  in  earnest.  He  meant  to 
absent  himself  from  the  meeting  to  take  place  on 
that  evening,  and  he  meant  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  actively  with  the  land  organization.  There  was 
danger  for  him  in  this  new  path  into  which  his  feet 
had  wandered,  and  he  was  resolute  in  his  purpose  at 
once  to  turn  aside  therefrom. 


CHAPTER 

A    SAD    AFFLICTION. 

So  busy  had  Mr.  Eldridge  been  with  his  own 
*.houghts,  that,  even  though  half  an  hour  since  hia 
return  home  had  elapsed,  he  had  not  observed  the 
unusual  stillness  that  reigned  through  the  house. 
Gradually  he  became  aware  of  the  fact,  as,  by  a 
natural  transition,  his  consciousness  took  a  new 
direction,  and  he  listened  for  something  to  indicate 
the  presence  of  his  family.  But  neither  voices  nof 

10* 


114  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

the  sound  of  footsteps,  far  and  faint  even,  reached 
iiis  ears. 

"This  is  singular,"  he  said  to  himself;  and  he 
went  to  the  door  of  his  office,  and  stood  hearkening 
for  almost  the  space  of  a  minute.  Once  or  twice 
be  started  slightly,  as  a  real  or  imagined  sound,  like 
the  moan  of  some  oiie  in  pain,  swept  by  his  strain- 
it  g  sense. 

Mr.  Eldridge  held  his  breath,  until  he  could  hear 
his  own  heart  beating  loudly  and  feel  its  labored 
throbbings  against  his  side.  A  sudden  foreboding 
of  evil  oppressed  him.  From  his  office  he  stepped 
into  the  passage,  still  listening,  and  walked  to  the 
stairway.  As  he  stood  there,  hearkening  still,  the 
same  low,  smothered  voice  of  suffering  was  heard ; 
but  from  what  direction  it  came  was  not  apparent. 

"  Harriet !"  he  called,  in  suppressed  tones. 

Up  tli rough  the  passages  he  heard  the  sound  of 
his  voice  go  echoing  with  a  strangely-hollow  mur 
mur,  as  if  through  deserted  halls.  For  a  moment 
or  two  he  listened,  and  then  sprung  with  a  quick 
bound  up  the  stairs ;  for  he  heard  distinctly,  though 
in  a  very  low  and  smothered  voice,  the  word — 

"Father!" 

"  Harriet !"  he  called  again. 

"Father!  father!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  little  Katy,  faint  yet  eager, 
and  full  of  suffering  and  fear. 

"Where  are  you,  child?"  called  Mr.  Eldridge, 
whose  bewildered  sense  did  not  make  out  the  direo 
tion  from  which  the  sound  came. 


A   SAD   AFFLICTION.  115 

"  Father !  oh,  father,  come  !" 

The  voice  was  almost  by  his  side.  lie  glanced 
just  within  the  door  of  his  own  chamber,  and  there, 
upon  the  floor,  lay  Katy,  her  body  drawn  together, 
her  lace  pale  as  ashes  and  distorted  by  suffering, 
and  her  large  dark  eyes  looking  up  at  him  with  au 
expression  of  blended  hope  and  anguish.  She  inado 
not  the  slightest  movement  to  rise. 

"  Katy  !  Katy !     What  ails  you  ?" 

Mr.  Eldridge  bent  down  over  the  prostrate  child 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  forehead.  It  was  cold 
and  clammy. 

"Oh,  father!  father!"  Tears  gushed  from  her 
eyes.  But  still  she  lay  in  that  unnatural  position, — 
and  lay  perfectly  motionless. 

Mr.  Eldridge  took  hold  of  one  arm  and  drew  it 
up.  The  movement  was  answered  by  a  quick, 
sharp  cry  of  pain,  and  the  words, — 

"Oh,  don't,  father!  don't!" 

"What*ails  you,  Katy?  Where  are  you  hurt?" 
anxiously  inquired  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"William  shook  me  out  of  the  pear-tree,"  she 
answered,  the  tears  still  streaming  over  her  face. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Was  she  at  home  when  you  were  hurt  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Where  is  William?" 

"I  don't  know.     He  ran  away  when  I  fell." 

"Are  you  very  bad/y  hurt?" 

"  Oh,  father,  father !" 


116  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

The  voice  itself,  no  longer  sharp  and  loud,  but 
iow  and  wailing,  answered  the  question  too  truly. 

"Let  me  raise  you  upon  the  bed,"  said  Mr.  El- 
<1  ridge,  making  a  motion  to  draw  his  hands  beneath 
her. 

"  D'.-'ii't,  father !  Oh,  don't  touch  me  !"  she  cried, 
fearfully. 

"  You  can't  lie  upon  the  floor  in  this  way,  Katy." 

"Don't!  don't!  don't!     Oh!  oh!  oh!    Father!" 

Mr.  Eldridge  had  passed  his  hands  under  her,  and 
was  lifting  her  upon  the  bed.  The  movement  pro 
duced  such  pain  that  she  uttered  a  single  shriek,  so 
wild  and  full  of  anguish  that  it  made  the  father's 
blood  curdle  around  his  heart.  When  he  had  laid 
her  upon  the  soft  bed  and  raised  himself  up  so  that 
be  could  look  into  her  face,  he  saw  a  deathlike 
countenance.  The  suffering  of  the  moment  had 
proved  more  than  nature  could  bear. 

"Katy!"  he  called  to  her. 

But  she  heard  him  not. 

"Katy!     My  child!" 

He  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  wind.  Close 
to  her  lips  he  next  bent  his  ear;  but  there  came  not 
the  faintest  sound  of  breathing.  lie  fixed  his  eyes 
sharply  upon  her  neck  and  breast;  but  every  line 
and  fibre  was  motionless  as  stone. 

For  n  little  while  Mr.  Eldridge  was  too  greatly 
alarmed  and  excited  to  see  clearly  what  to  do.  The 
first  impression  on  his  mind  was  that  Katy's  life  had 
given  out  with  the  wild  scream  of  pain  that  still 
rung  in  his  ears  and  thrilled  along  his  nerves.  A 


A  SAD  AFFLICTION.  117 

few  moments  lie  stood  over  her  in  anguish ;  then  he 
went  out  into  the  passage,  and  called,  first  the  name 
of  his  wife,  then  that  of  the  servant,  and  then,  in 
succession,  the  names  of  his  two  boys.  But  there 
returned  to  him  no  answer  but  the  echoes  of  his 
own  voice.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  alone  .n 
the  house  with  his  dead,  or,  it  might  be,  dying, 
child. 

"Katy!  Katy !"  he  called,  wringing  his  hands  in 
anguish,  as  he  returned  to  the  chamber  and  onco 
more  stood  over  the  inanimate  form  of  the  little 
girl,  into  whose  white  face  there  had  not  come  back 
a  single  trace  of  feeling. 

A  thought  of  the  doctor  caused  him  to  leave  the 
chamber  quickly  and  hurry  down-stairs.  "If  she 
should  come  to  herself  before  I  get  back?"  The 
suggestion  arrested  his  feet  for  an  instant ;  but  only 
for  an  instant.  If  help  was  obtained  at  all  it  must 
be  through  the  physician,  and  the  quicker  his  aid 
could  be  secured  the  better. 

Mr.  Eldridge  threw  open  the  door,  and  glanced 
eagerly  up  and  down  for  some  one  who  would  beai 
a  message  to  the  doctor.  No  one  appearing,  he  was 
about  starting  off  himself,  when  Dr.  Penrose  came 
in  sight,  a  short  distance  away,  at  a  crossing. 

The  loud  call  of  Mr.  Eldridge  reached  his  ears; 
and  the  eager,  beckoning  hand  that  suddenly  cut 
the  air  with  quick  motions  caused  him  to  hasten  hid 
steps  and  change  their  direction. 

"  Oh,  doctor !  come  up  quickly !"  urged  Mr.  El- 
bridge,  as  soon  as  Dr.  Penrose  had  reached  him 


118  WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

within  a  few  paces ;  and  he  turned  into  the 
Dr.  Penrose  followed  him  in  silence. 

"Is  she  dead?"  was  the  father's  anxious  query,  as 
they  reached  the  bedside  and  stood  looking  upon 
the  ashen  face  of  Katy. 

Dr.  Penrose  bent  his  ear  close  down  to  the  moutl 
of  the  child  and  listened  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
ho  bared  her  breast  and  laid  his  hand  over  her 
heart. 

"What  is  the  cause  of  this?"  inquired  the  doctor, 
turning  with  a  serious  face  to  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"  I  found  her,"  was  answered,  "  only  a  few  minutes 
ago,  lying  upon  the  floor  in  this  room  and  moaning 
in  pain.  As  I  lifted  her  in  my  arms  to  lay  her  upon 
the  bed,  she  gave  a  wild  scream  and  fainted." 

"Do  you  know  nothing  more?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  She  told  me,  before  I  tried  to  raise  her  up,  that 
she  had  fallen  from  the  pear-tree." 

"Where  is  she  hurt?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  She  appears  to  have  crept  up- 
itairs  after  her  fall ;  but  she  did  not  move  herself 
on  tne  floor  when  I  came  in." 

The  doctor  passed  his  hand  under  her  clothing 
jind  felt  carefully  along  her  limbs  and  body. 

"Is  she  dead?"  asked  Mr.  Eldridge,  hoarsely,  as 
the  doctor  was  silently  making  the  examination. 

"I  think  not:  only  suspended  vital  action,"  was 
briefly  returned. 

"  Something  wrong  here,"  he  said,  a  moment  or 
two  after  replying  to  the  father's  question. 

"  Wrong  where  ?"  was  inquired. 


A   SAD   AFFLICTION.  119 

"  About  the  spine." 

"Oh,  doctor!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Eldridge,  t>efore 
whose  mind  was  at  once  presented  the  sad  imags 
of  a  hopelessly-deformed  child ;  "  her  back  is  not 
broken  ?  Don't  say  that,  Dr.  Pearose ! — don't  say 
that!" 

"  I  can  say  nothing  positively,"  was  answered,  'u 
a  low,  serious  voice.  "But  the  injury  is  here; 
(touching  the  spine.)  "  See  how  largely  this  verte 
bra  protrudes  beyond  the  others." 

"  Poor,  poor  child !"  murmured  the  father,  as  he 
turned  his  face  away. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Eldridge  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 
"Will  you  call  her?" 

"  She  is  not  at  home,"  replied  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"  Then  you  had  better  send  for  her  immediately, 
if  you  have  not  already  done  so." 

"I  do  not  know  where  to  send,"  returned  Mr. 
Eldridge,  in  a  perplexed  voice. 

"  She  was  at  Mrs.  Glendy's  about  three  o'clock," 
said  the  doctor.  "  I  saw  her  and  Mrs.  Weakly  going 
in  as  I  passed." 

"What?  — there?"  ejaculated  Mr.  Eldridge,  to 
whom,  the  intelligence  came  with  a  new  shook  of 
pain. 

"Yes;  I  am  certain  of  it,"  replied  the  doctor. 
"  Suppose  you  send  one  of  your  boys  there  with  a 
message  for  her  to  come  home  immediately  ?" 

"  Neither  of  them  are  here.  But  I  can  go  myself 
You  will  stay  until  my  return  ?" 

"Bo  as  quick  as  possible." 


120  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

Mr.  Eldndge  left  the  room,  and  v^s  half-way 
down-stairs,  when  the  doctor  called  f->  him,  and 
said, — 

"Stop  at  my  house  in  passing,  and  viy  to  Mrs. 
Peurose  that  I  want  her  here  immedute.y.  Tell 
her  not  to  delay  a  single  moment,  but  t^  onne  al 
once." 

"  Thank  you,  doctor.    I  will  do  so.  ' 

And  Mr.  Eldridge  hurried  away.  Mrs.  Prv  vos< 
on  receiving  the  message  from  her  hushand,  -xn^i 
learning  in  a  few  words  from  Mr.  Eldridge  on  \vhof 
account  she  was  wanted,  left  for  her  neighbor? 
house  without  stopping  to  make  the  slightest  change 
or  addition  to  her  dress,  while  Mr.  Eldridge  kept  on 
toward  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Glendy. 

"Is  Mrs.  Eldridge  here ?"  he  asked  of  the  servant 
who  came  to  the  door. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  was  replied,  in  what  seemed 
to  him  a  tone  of  evasion. 

"  Will  you  see  ?"  Mr.  Eldridge  spoke  in  a  firm, 
imperative  voice,  that  made  ita  impression  on  the 
servant. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  answered,  and  went  back  into  the 
house.  She  was  gone  for  so  long  a  time  that  Mr. 
Eldridge  was  about  laying  his  hand  again  upon  the 
knocker,  when  he  saw  her  coming  slowly  down  the 
stairway.  In  his  eagerness  to  get  her  answer  he 
stepped  within  the  door  and  moved  a  few  paces 
down  the  hall. 

"Is  Mrs.  Eldridge  here ?"     He  spoke  so  loud  that 


A   SAD   AFFLICTION.  121 

the  sound  of  his  voice  went  ringing  through  the 
house. 

"  No,  sir ;  she  is  not  here,"  replied  the  girl. 

There  was  something  in  her  manner  that  loft 
strong  douht  on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Glendy  at  home  ?" 

The  girl  stammered  out  a  negative. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

He  did  not  really  hear  her  answer ;  for,  before  it 
was  made,  the  murmur  of  suppressed  voices  sounded 
distinctly  from  an  adjoining  room.  Mr.  Eldridge 
was  in  no  state  of  mind  to  weigh  nice  proprieties  of 
action  or  to  pay  any  regard  to  the  ordinary  rules  of 
social  etiquette.  He  was  satisfied,  from  the  manner 
of  the  girl,  that  his  wife  was  in  the  house  ;  and  the 
necessity  of  finding  her  at  once  overruled  all  other 
considerations.  Not  an  instant  did  he  hesitate,  but 
moved  across  to  the  door  of  the  room  from  which 
the  voices  came,  and  swung  it  open.  Three  persons 
were  revealed  within  ;  but  neither  of  them  proved 
to  be  Mrs.  Eldridge.  There  were  Mrs.  Glendy,  Mrs. 
Weakly,  and  a  man  well  known  in  Arden,  but  not 
by  any  means  of  fair  reputation.  They  were  seated 
at  a  table,  on  which  were  cards.  A  vacant  chair 
pushed  back  from  the  table  plainly  showed  the  re 
cent  presence  of  a  fourth  member  of  the  party. 
But  Mr.  Eldridge  had  stronger  evidence  than  this, 
in  the  fact  that  he  saw  a  portion  of  a  ladj  's  dress 
vanishing  through  the  door  as  he  entered. 

"Sir!"  With  this  simple  ejaculation,  uttered  MI 
the  tone  of  one  who  felt  herself  outraged  by  an  n ti 
ll 


122  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

warrantable  intrusion,  Mrs.  Glcndy  greeted  the 
abrupt  entrance  of  Mr.  Eldridge.  She  arose  as 
she  spoke,  aud  looked  angrily  at  her  unwelcome 
visitor. 

"  Ts  my  wife  here  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Eldridge,  iu  a 
*tern,  imperative  way. 

"You  can  answer  that  question  'for  yourself." 
And  Mrs,  Gleudy  threw  hei  eyes  around  the  apart 
ment. 

"  She  is  not  in  this  room.  I  can  see  that.  Is  she 
in  the  house?" 

"I  never  answer  any  but  gentlemanly  interroga 
tions  !"  retorted  Mrs.  Glendy. 

"Pardon  my  rudeness,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  re 
pressing  the  strong  excitement  under  which  he  was 
laboring,  and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  more  respectful 
tone.  "There  has  been  a  sad  accident  at  home,  and 
I  am  in  search  of  my  wife.  Dr.  Penrose  informed 
me  that  he  saw  her  here  this  afternoon." 

"  She  was  here,"  replied  Mrs.  Glendy,  her  offended 
manner  at  once  changing,  "  but  left  a  short  time 
since.  What  has  happened,  sir?" 

"Our  little  Kate  has  had  a  fall,  and  is  in  a  dread 
ful  condition,"  replied  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"Where  is  she  injured?"  inquired  Mrs. Weakly, 
evincing  a  lively  concern,  and  stepping  close  up  to 
where  Mr.  Eldridge  stood. 

"About  the  spine,  I  believe.  She  is  now  insensible. 
I  found  her  all  alone  in  the  house,  lying  upon  the 
floor,  unable  to  move.  Do  you  think  my  wile  is  at 
your  house,  Mrs.  Weakly?" 


A   SAD   AFFLICTION. 

"  She  may  be,  but  it  is  doubtful.  Who  is  with 
jrour  Kate?" 

"  Dr.  Penrose  and  his  wife." 

Mr.  Eldridge  stepped  back  from  the  room  as  he 
replied,  adding,  as  he  was  turning  away, — 

"  I  must  hurry  home.  Should  you  see  my  wife, 
tell  her  not  to  delay  an  instant.  If  either  of  you 
know  where  she  is,  in  heaven's  name  send  to  her 
quickly." 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Eldridge  left  the  startled 
inmates  of  the  room  and  glided  from  the  house. 
As  he  gained  the  street  and  turned  his  eyes  in  the  di 
rection  of  his  home,  he  saw  his  wife  a  short  distance 
in  advance,  running  wildly  along  the  pavement. 

There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  of  her  presence  at 
Mrs.  Glendy's  at  the  time  of  his  entrance,  nor  of  her 
having  heard  him  tell  of  the  dreadful  accident  which 
had  befallen  Katy.  A  new  pang  shot  through  his 
heart,  and  an  audible  groan  passed  his  lips. 

"Unhappy  wife  and  mother!"  he  said,  aloud ;  then, 
with  more  bitterness  of  feeling,  added,  "  Wretched 
woman  !  You  have  taken  one  step  too  far !  Right 
actions  need  no  veil  of  falsehood;  virtuous  com 
panionship  no  mantle  of  concealment.  Gracious 
heavens  !  has  it  come  to  this  already  !" 

Mr.  Eldridge  clasped  his  hands  together  in  bitter 
anguish  of  spirit,  then  strode  forward  at  a  more 
rapid  pace  in  the  direction  of  home. 


124  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 


CHAPTER    XTV. 

THE   SELFISH   MOTHER. 

AT  the  bedside  of  poor  Katy  Mr.  Eldiidge  found 
his  wife  weeping  and  wringing  her  hands,  and  filling 
the  house  with  unavailing  cries.  Mrs.  Penrose  was 
ministering,  as  best  she  could,  to  the  little  sufferer, 
now  restored  to  consciousness,  and  free,  in  a  mea 
sure,  from  pain. 

"Don't  cry  so,  mother!"  he  heard  Katy  say,  as  he 
entered  the  room. 

"Oh,  dear!  dear!  that  I  should  have  a  broken- 
backed  child !"  sobbed  Mrs.  Eldridge,  unheeding 
the  words  of  her  injured  little  one.  "Oh,  dear! 
dear!" 

"  Calm  yourself,  Mrs.  Eldridge,"  said  Mrs.  Pen 
rose,  in  a  low,  firm  tone.  "  Summon  all  your  self 
possession." 

"Where  is  the  doctor?  I  thought  he  was 
here." 

"  He  has  gone  home  for  some  bandages,  but  will 
be  back  in  a  moment." 

"  Oh,  dear !  he  stays  a  long  time !  Hadn't  you 
better  go  for  him,  Mr.  Eldridge  ?" 

But  Mr.  Eldridge  didn't  even  look  toward  hi  a 
wife. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !    It's  dreadful !"  sobbed  Mrs.  El 


THE   SELFISH   MOTHER.  125 

iridge.  "Dreadful!  dreadful!  Does  the  doctor 
really  think  her  back  is  broken  ?'' 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  Mrs.  Penrose,  drawing 
Mrs.  Eldridge  away  from  the  bed,  and  speaking  in 
her  ear,  "for  the  sake  of  your  poor  child,  calm 
yourself;  and,  for  her  sake,  do  not  again  refer  to 
•JLe  nature  of  the  injury  she  may  have  sustained." 

'•  But  does  the  doctor  really  think  that  her  back 
s  broken,  Mrs.  Penrose  ?" 

"  The  spine  is  seriously  injured." 

"  Oh,  dear !"  And  Mrs.  Eldridge  sobbed  and 
fv'rung  her  hands.  "  Oh,  dear !  Of  all  things  in 
the  world  to  have  a  hunchbacked  child,  and  she  a 
daughter.  I'd  rather  a  thousand  times  see  her  in 
her  grave!" 

"Mrs.  Eldridge!"  Surprise  and  rebuke  were 
blended  in  the  tones  of  Mrs.  Pen-rose. 

"It's  true.  Mrs.  Penrose.  Oh,  dear!  It  will  kill 
me!" 

"Think  of  your  child,  madam,  not  of  yourself," 
said  the  doctor's  wife,  almost  sternly. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  think  of  any  thing  but  a  cripple  in  the 
family,  and  she  a  daughter!  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!" 

Much  as  Mrs.  Penrose  sought  to  check  those  ut 
terances  of  the  selfish  mother,  that  we  re  loud  eno'igfi 
to  reach  the  ears  of  Katy.  she  was  unable  to  do  so. 
The  child  heard  and  understood  every  word,  and 
they  brought  to  her  shrinking  heart  the  first  sad  in 
timations  of  a  future  that  would  be  full  of  neglect", 
wrong,  and  suffering.  She  had  seen  a  broken- 
backed,  little  girl  once;  and  the  image  of  her  de 
ll* 


WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO  i 

formed  body  and  shrunken,  unlovely  face  was  as 
distinct  to  her  mind  now  as  when  she  first  looked 
on  the  poor  unfortunate.  But  few  emotions  of  pity 
wt  re  excited  within  her  at  the  time.  She  had  felt 
more  of  disgust  than  sympathy;  and  she  distinctly 
emembered  how  she  had  shrunk  away  from  the 
child  and  felt  as  if  she  would  on  no  account  have 
touched  her.  Tears  fell  over  her  cheeks ;  but  they 
were  from  a  fountain  never  touched  before, —  a 
fountain  very  far  down  in  her  young  spirit,  and 
hidden  until  now. 

"Poor  child!"  sobbed  the  mother,  touched  mo 
mentarily  with  a  true  sympathy  for  her  little  one, 
and  bending  over  and  laying  her  cheek  against  her 
wet  face  ;  "  poor,  poor  child  !" 

At  this  moment  Dr.  Penrose  re-entered  the 
chamber.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Eldridge  saw  him  she 
turned  away  from  the  bed,  and  came  a  few  steps, 
Baying,  in  a  voice  of  peculiar  distress, — 

"Oh,  doctor! — doctor!  Isn't  this  terrible?  But 
don't  tell  me  her  back  is  broken !" 

"Hush  !"  returned  Dr.  Penrose,  in  a  low,  caution 
ing  whisper ;  and  he  raised  his  finger  to  his  lips. 

"Any  thing  but  that,  doctor!  I  can  bear  any 
thing  but  that !"  sobbed  the  mother. 

"  Madam !"  (Dr.  Penrose  knit  his  brows  and 
looked  at  her  sternly,)  "I  must  enjoin  calmness  and 
silence." 

"But,  doctor,  how  can  I  be  calm  and  silent?  Do 
you  think  I  have  no  feelings?  I  am  not  made  of 
stone." 


TUB    SELF1BH    MOTHER.  127 

"If  you  please!"  said  the  doctor,  stepping  past 
the  excited  woman,  and  moving  her  aside  with  his 
hand  as  he  did  so. 

"llow  do  you  feel  now,  dear?;'  He  spoke  to 
Katy  in  a  low,  tender,  encouraging  voice. 

"  Better,"  answered  the  child. 

"  Not  in  much  pain  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"I  shall  have  to  move  you  a  little,  dear,"  said  the 
doctor; — "just  a  little.  But  I'll  try  and  not  hurt 
you,  if  possible ;  and  it  will  soon  be  over.  Then 
you  will  feel  a  great  deal  better." 

A  shadow  of  fear  came  over  the  child's  face. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  doctor?"  Mrs. 
Eldridge  had  turned,  and  was  now  standing  by  his 
side. 

"If  you  please,  madam!"  and  the  doctor  waved 
her  back  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  Come,  Harriet."  Mr.  Eldridge  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  arm  of  his  wife  and  tried  to  draw  her 
away.  But  she  resisted  the  attempt. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her,  doctor  V" 
she  asked  again. 

Dr.  Penrose  raised  himself  from  the  bed,  and, 
taking  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  in  a  resolute  way, 
conducted  her  from  the  room. 

Don't  come  back,  madam,"  he  said,  on  gainirg 
the  passage,  "until  we  send  for  you.  Your  nerves 
are  too  much  excited ;  and  if  you  remain  you  will 
do  harm." 

"Oh,  doctor!"     And  Mrs.  Eldridge  caught  hold 


128  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

of  the  doctor's  arm;  but  he  shook  her  oil  reso 
lutely. 

"I  can't  stay  away  from  my  child !"  she  said,  in 
a  dramatic  tone,  making  a  movement  to  return  to 
the  apartment  where  the  little  sufferer  lay. 

"You  must  keep,  away,  or  act  like  a  sensible 
woman,"  retorted  the  doctor,  who  was  fast  losing 
his  temper. 

"You  are  insulting!" 

"And  you  are  a "  The  word  "fool"  almost 

found  an  utterance. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Eldridge,  keep  your  wife  out 
of  the  room  until  I  can  give  this  child  the  attention 
she  needs,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  returned,  evincing 
a  good  deal  of  excitement. 

"H-u-s-h,  doctor!  Don't  speak  so  roughly." 
And  Mrs.  Penrose  laid  her  hand  on  her  husband's 
arm  and  tried  to  soothe  his  temporary  disturb 
ance. 

"  Give  all  attention  to  your  patient,"  said  Mr. 
Eldridge,  firmly.  "  I  will  see  that  you  are  not  inter 
rupted."  And  he  went  hastily  out.  His  wife  met 
him  only*  a  step  from  the  door,  in  the  act  of  re 
turning. 

"  You  can't  go  in  there  now,"  said  he,  resolutely, 
afa  he  shut  the  door  behind  him ;  and  Mr.  Eldridge 
lo  »ked  so  sternly  into  his  wife's  face  that  her  eyes 
quailed. 

A  little  while  they  stood  confronting  each  other. 
Then  both  started,  as  a  sharp  cry  of  pain  was  heard 
in  the  room  where  their  child  lay. 


THE    SELFIS2    MOTHER.  12U 

"  What  is  he  doing  to  her?"  exclaimed  the  mo 
ther,  turning  pale. 

"My  poor,  poor  child!"  said  Mr.  Eldridge.  all  the 
tenderest  feelings  of  his  heart  awakened,  and  mov 
ing  toward  the  little  sufferer. 

"  Oh,  dear!  I  cannot  bear  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Eldridge, 
auddenly  raising  her  hands  to  her  ears,  as  shriek 
after  shriek  came  from  the  lips  of  Katy :  "  it  will 
kill  me !" 

Disgust  at  the  utter  selfishness  exhibited  by  his 
wife  was  mingled  in  the  heart  of  Mr.  Eldridge  with 
yearning  pity  for  his  child.  He  could  not  help  say 
ing,  in  a  tone  of  contempt, — 

"I'm  afraid  of  the  consequences  in  your 'case! 
Sympathy  with  pain  is  more  terrible  than  pain  it 
self.  Perhaps  she  had  better  be  removed  from 
the  house,  lest  her  cries  shock  your  nerves  too 
severely!" 

All  was  again  silent  in  the  room  where  Katy  was 
alone  with  the  doctor  and  his  wife.  The  cutting 
rebuke  just  uttered  was  felt  by  Mrs.  Eldridge,  whose 
eyes  quailed  under  the  stern,  almost  fierce,  gaze  o~f 
her  excited  and  indignant  husband.  With  finger  on 
her  lip,  Mrs.  Penrose  now  appeared  at  the  door,  near 
which  the  parents  of  Katy  still  remained. 

41  It  is  over,"  she  said,  in  a  low  whisper;  "and  she 
will  not  have  to  be  disturbed  again,  poor  child!" 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  the  doctor  thought?"  asked  Mr. 
Eldridge,  hoarsely. 

"  The  spine  is  badly  injured,"  replied  Mrs.  Pen- 
rose, 


1^0  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"Broken?" 

"  So  it  is  termed." 

"  My  poor,  unfortunate  child!"  Tears  (Jmnrecl 
Hie  eyes  of  Mr.  Eld  ridge. 

k'6h,  it  is  dreadful!— dreadful!"  sobbed  Mrs.  PI- 
<f ridge.  "  I  could  have  borne  her  death  more  calmly. 
A!  poor  hunchback  !  A  burden  to  herself  and  to 
every  one  else.  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  Is  she  asleep 
now,  Mrs.  Penrose?" 

"  She  is  free  from  pain." 

"Shall  I  go  in  to  her?" 

"Not  unless  you  will  be  very  composed." 

"How  can  I  be?  I  am  her  mother;  and  my 
nerves  are  not  of  iron.  How  can  I  look  at  her, 
crippled  as  she  is  for  life,  and  be  all  unmoved  ?" 

"  Then  for  the  present  you  must  not  go  near  her. 
The  doctor  insists  on  the  most  perfect  quiet." 

Mr.  Eldridge  laid  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  wife, 
and  endeavored  to  lead  her  away,  saying,  as  he  did 
so, — 

"  Come,  Harriet !  The  shock  has  been  too  much 
for  you." 

But  she  stood  firmly  resistant.  He  still  endea 
rored  to  draw  her  away. 

"Release  my  arm!"  she  said,  angrily  shaking  him 
off. 

"Let  reason  and  affection  unite  to  govern  you, 
Mrs.  Eldridge,"  said  Mrs.  Penrose,  in  a  low  but 
penetrating  voice.  "You  need  them  both  in  the  pre 
sent  case.  Under  one  of  those  mysterious  permis 
sions  of  Providence  that  look  so  dark  in  the  suffering 


THE    SELFISH    MOTHER.  131 

present,  you  are  suddenly  called  upon  to  assume 
a  new  relation, —  one  demanding  self-denial  and 
calling  for  the  exercise  of  tender  pity  and  unselfish 
love.  Think  not  of  yourself,  but  of  your  poor,  deal 
little  sufferer,  whose  whole  life  is  to  be  marred  by 
this  sad  misfortune." 

"  I  could  have  seen  her  laid  in  her  grave  with  less 
emotion,"  said  Mrs. Eldridge,  sobbing  again.  "Oh, 
dear !  Oh,  dear!  To  be  a  cripple  for  life ! — and  such 
a  cripple !  A  broken-backed  woman !  Isn't  it 
dreadful,  Mrs.  Penrose  ?" 

The  doctor's  wife  did  not  venture  a  reply.  Dis 
gust  at  the  selfish  mother  was  so  strong  that,  had 
she  spoken,  she  must  have  uttered  words  that  might 
not  be  said  without  lasting  offence. 

Dr.  Penrose  now  joined  them  in  the  passage 
where  they  were  standing.  He  looked  very  serious. 
Mr.  Eldridge  came  to  his  side,  and,  grasping  his 
hand,  said, — 

"I  know  the  worst,  doctor.  My  poor  child  is 
hopelessly  injured?" 

"I  fear  so,  Mr.  Eldridge,"  replied  the  doctor,  so 
berly.  "It  is  one  of  those  sad  cases  that  draw  deep 
est  on  the  sympathies.  Let  me  particularly  enjoin," 
he  added,  in  a  firmer  voice,  and  with  professional 
emphasis,  "the  most  perfect  quiet  for  my  parent. 
Above  all  things," — and  he  looked  steadily  at  Mrs 
Eldridge, — "let  no  allusion  be  made  in  her  presence 
to  the  nature  of  her  injury.  No  good  can  arise  there 
from,  aud  much  evil  may  be  occasioned." 


182  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

The  mother  answered  only  by  a  succession  of 
impassioned  sobs  and  moans. 

"Do  riot  let  her  be  moved  under  any  pretence 
whatever/'  added  the  doctor.  "I  will  call  around 
again  in  about  an  hour,  to  see  how  she  is  doing. 
You  had  better  remain  a  little  while  longer,  Mrs. 
Pen  rose.  I  have  one  or  two  visits  yet  to  make 
before  night  " 

The  doctor  withdrew,  and  his  wife  returned  to 
the  room  where  the  child  lay,  followed  by  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Eldridge.  Katy  raised  her  large  eyes,  humid 
from  recent  suffering,  and  fixed  them  upon  her 
father's  face  with  a  look  that  touched  him  deeply, — 
so  deeply  that  he  could  not  keep  back  the  tears. 
He  bent  over,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her  forehead 
very  tenderly. 

"How  does  my  little  girl  feel?"  he  asked,  in  a 
low  voice,  which  had  in  it  more  of  love's  music  for 
the  ears  of  Katy  than  she  had  ever  heard  before. 

"  Better,  papa !"  answered  T.e  child,  in  a  whisper, 
looking  gratefully  into  his  face. 

"I'm  glad  of  it,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  upon 
her  head  and  smoothing  her  damp  hair  with  a 
caressing  movement. 

"Oh,  dear!"  now  broke  in  Mrs.  Eldridge,  with 
one  of  her  dramatic  sobs;  "oh!  my  poor,  poor 
child !"  And  she  bent  over  Katy  with  an  impas 
sioned  gesture,  tears  gushing  over  her  face. 

"Don't  cry,  mother,"  said  Katy;  "I'm  better 
now !" 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  you  a'n't  any  better,  and  you'll 


THE   SELFISH   MOTHER.  133 

never  be  any  better,  child.  Oh,  dear!  To  Jiink 
it  should  have  happened  to  one  of  my  cm  dren> 
Oh,  my!  Oh,  dear!" 

"Harriet!" 

"  Mrs.  Eldridge !" 

Mr.  Eldridge  and  the  doctor's  wife  spoke  in  Aram- 
ing  voices  at  the  same  moment.  Katy's  eyes  filled 
with  tears  :  she  shut  them  tightly  and  turned  her 
head  away,  while  an  expression  of  grief  settled  upon 
her  pale  face. 

"  For  her  sake,"  whispered  Mrs.  Penrose,  "control 
yourself." 

"  It  is  easy  to  talk,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  with 
considerable  petulance  in  her  voice.  "If  it  were 
your  child  who  had  her  back  broken,  you  wouldn't 
take  it  any  more  easily  than  I  do." 

Mrs.  Penrose  turned  from  the  bedside  and  walked 
to  the  opposite  part  of  the  room.  Mr.  Eldridge, 
moved  by  an  impulse  similar  to  that  from  which 
Mrs.  Penrose  had  acted,  went  almost  hastily  from 
the  apartment,  leaving  the  mother  alone  by  the  bed 
side  of  Katy. 

A  few  more  selfish,  imbecile  utterances  were 
made,  and  then  Mrs.  Eldridge  also  retired,  going 
from  the  room,  and  passing  to  an  adjoining  charr  - 
ber,  where  she  threw  herself,  with  a  feeling  of  weas 
abandonment,  on  a  bed,  and  hid  her  face  among  the 
pillows. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Eldridge  heard  his  wife  leave 
Katy's  room,  he  returned,  and,  sitting  down  by  his 
child,  bent  over  and  looked  tenderly  and  lovingly 

12 


134  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

apon  her  changed  and  suffering  countenance,  even 
pressing  his  lips  again  to  her  forehead, — a  sign  of 
affection  not  given  until  now  for  a  long,  long  time, 
lie  took  also  one  of  her  little  hands  and  held  ;A 
tightly  within  his  own. 

"How  do  you  feel  now,  dear?"  he  inquired,  it 
tones  of  affection. 

Light  came  with  a  flash  into  Katy's  eyes.  It  waa 
not  within  her  memory  the  time  when  her  father 
had  spoken  with  so  much  of  love  in  his  voice. 

"  I'm  better,"  she  simply  answered,  while  a  smile 
trembled  about  her  lips  and  even  flushed  slightly 
her  almost-colorless  face.  Her  father  kissed  her 
again ;  for  his  heart  was  yearning  toward  her,  full 
of  pity. 

"  Don't  you  feel  any  pain  ?"  he  asked. 

"Xo,  father."  The  smile  was  deeper  and  the 
flush  on  her  face  warmer;  for  her  heart  was  touched 
by  the  manifested  love  of  her  father  as  it  had  never 
been  touched  before.  Never,  perhaps,  since  life  had 
grown  into  full  consciousness,  had  she  felt  so  truly 
happy  as  at  this  moment. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  dear."  And  a  hand 
was  laid  gently  on  her  head. 

"I  don't  think  William  meant  to  do  it,  father.' 
said  Katy,  after  a  little  while.  '"He  shook  the  tree^ 
but  he  didn't  know  I^would  fall." 

The  brows  of  Mr.  Eldridge  contracted.  He  did 
not  think,  with  Katy,  that  William  was  blameless. 
He  knew  too  well  his  evil,  reckless  disposition. 

"I>Dn't  whip  him,  father!"     The  child  spoke  in  a 


THE   SELFISH   MOTHER.  135 

pleading  voice.  "  He  didn't  mean  to  hurt  me.  How 
could  he  know  that  I  was  going  to  fall?  And  he'll 
bo  so  sorry !" 

Mr.  Eld  ridge  was  silent  with  surprise.  Hereto 
fore,  if  either  of  her  brothers  wronged  her  in  the 
slightest  manner  she  was  angrily  importunate  for 
bis  punishment,  and  took  delight  in  the  consequent 
Buffering. 

"  I  think  he  will  be  sorry."  Mr.  Eldridge  spoke 
rather  to  himself  than  to  Katy.  The  child  took  ug 
his  words  instantly,  saying, — 

"  Oh,  I  know  he'll  be  sorry.  He  gets  angry,  and 
so  do  I.  But  he  wouldn't  hurt  me  bad  on  pur 
pose." 

"It's  very  wrong  to  get  angry,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"  I  know  it  is."  The  little  face  grew  thoughtful 
even  to  seriousness.  "  I'll  try  and  not  get  angry 
any  more,  as  long  as  I  live." 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  touched  by  the  simple  earnest 
ness  of  his  little  one,  yet  more  by  the  spirit  of  for 
giveness,  so  new  in  her,  yet  so  beautiful  to  him  in 
its  first  and  unexpected  manifestation. 

"  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those 
who  trespass  against  us." 

These  words  fell  from  his  lips.  The  utterance 
was  involuntary, — the  tone  in  which  they  were  said, 
reverent. 

Katy  lifted  her  eyes  again  to  her  father's  face, 
and  looked  at  him  half  wonderingly. 

In  that  hour  strong  bonds,  never  to  be  broken, 
v  <jre  cast  around  the  hearts  of  the  father  and  child. 


136  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

Each  regarded  the  other  with  a  new  and  tende/ei 
fooling. 

"  T  forgive  William." 

These  words,  from  the  lips  of  Katy,  broke  tha 
doep  silence  that  followed. 

Mr.  Eldridge  tried  to  respond,  but  he  could  not 
trust  his  voice.  Tears  suddenly  filled  his  eyes,  and 
he  turned  away  his  face  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

Mrs.  Penrose,  who  had  been  a  deeply-interested 
witness  of  these  new,  brief  passages  of  love  between 
the  father  and  child,  now  came  forward,  and,  laying 
her  hand  on  Mr.  Eldridge,  said, — 

"I'm  afraid  this  is  too  exciting  for  Katy.  The 
doctor  says  she  must  be  kept  perfectly  quiet.  Per 
haps  you  had  better  leave  her  alone  with  me  ?" 

"You  are  right,"  answered  the  father,  rising  up 
quickly.  Again  he  pressed  his  lips  to  the  brow  and 
lips  of  Katy,  then  turned  away  and  left  the  room. 
Katy's  eyes  followed  his  retiring  form  as  it  receded 
through  the  door.  When  it  had  vanished  the  lids 
dropped  slowly  upon  her  cheeks  and  were  shui 
t'ghtly ;  but  a  gentle  smile  remained  upon  her  lips. 


MORE   STRIFE.  187 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MORE   STRIFE. 

MR.  ELDRIDGE,  on  leaving  the  room  where  hia 
Btiffering  child  lay,  did  not  seek  the  apartment 
whither  his  wife  had  retired,  but  went  down-stairs 
to  his  office.  Instead  of  desiring  to  draw  nearer  to 
her  in  this  affliction,  her  recent  conduct  and  the 
spirit  in  which  she  received  the  painful  intelligence 
of  Katy's  injury  created  a  strong  feeling  of  re 
pulsion.  Her  visit  to  Mrs.  Glendy's,  and  the  cir 
cumstances  under  which  he  found  her  there,  now 
that  they  were  recalled  in  thought,  reawakened  the 
angry  indignation  felt  a  short  time  before,  and  he 
said,  bitterly, — 

"  That  was  one  step  too  far !" 

The  thought,  starting  in  his  mind  at  the  same  in 
stant,  that  she  was  only  occupied  as  he  had  bee  a 
11  day,  and,  perhaps,  harmlessly  in  comparison,  sent 
the  blood  hotly  to  his  brow. 

"If  right  for  you,  why  wrong  for  her?"  The 
question  came  to  him  with  an  unwelcome  perti 
nence.  But  he  pushed  it  aside  with  an  impulsive 
ejaculation  of  scorn  for  a  woman  who  could  stoop 
to  a  man's  vices. 

A  mental  conflict  such  as  this  was  in  no  way  cal 
culated  to  soothe  the  troubled  mind  of  Mr.  Eldridge, 

12* 


138  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

to  awaken  better  impulses  or  to  strengthen  those 
already  active.  All  the  tender  feelings  that  moved 
over  his  heart  and  stirred  its  waters  deeply  as  he 
stood  bending  over  Katy  a  little  whiTe  before  were 
now  obscured,  and  in  their  place  was  anger  toward 
his  wife,  mingled  with  contempt  for  the  weak  selfish 
ness  she  had  exhibited.  From  this  state  of  mind  he 
was  suddenly  started  by  hearing  her  loud,  quick  call 
to  William.  She  had  come  down-stairs,  and  was 
standing  in  the  street  door. 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  wretch,  you !"  she  exclaimed,  a 
moment  after.  "  You've  almost  killed  your  sister ! 
Her  back's  broken;  and  she'll  be  a  cripple  for 
life !" 

"I  didn't  touch  her,"  Mr.  Eldridge  heard  Wil 
liam  say. 

"  Yes,  you  did,  though !  You  shook  her  out  of 
the  pear-tree." 

"  Who  says  so  ?" 

"  Why,  Katy  says  so." 

"  She  lies !  I  didn't  do  no  such  thing.  She  fell 
out  herself.  I  never  touched  the  tree:  —  did  I, 
Jacob?" 

"No,  you  didn't,"  replied  the  elder  brother, 
positively. 

"  There  ! — I  told  you  I  didn't  Jacob  was  there, 
and  he  knows,  I  guess." 

"  She's  no  business  climbing  trees  like  a  tom 
boy,"  added  Jacob.  "I've  told  her  she'd  get  hurt 
One  of  these  days ;  and  now  she  has." 


MORE    STRIFE.  139 

"  Her  back's  broken,  and  she'll  be  a  poor  cripple 
for  life,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"  Ta'n't  none  of  my  fault.  I've  told  her  to  keep 
out  of  tire  trees.  Girls  can't  climb,"  returned  Wil 
liam,  scarcely  touched  by  the  painful  intelligence. 

"  William!"  Mr.  Eldridge  had  come  to  his  office 
door,  and  now  called  his  son  in  a  stern  voice.  The 
lad  started,  and  grew  slightly  pale. 

"  Sir !"     There  was  a  quiver  in  his  voice. 

"  I  want  you.     Come  !" 

William  came  slowly  toward  his  father. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  inquired  Mrs. El 
dridge,  who  moved  along  by  the  side  of  William. 
Her  husband  made  no  reply,  but  laid  his  hand  on 
the  boy's  arm,  as  soon  as  he  was  in  reach,  and  drew 
him  toward  the  door  of  his  office. 

"He  didn't  shake  Katy  out  of  the  tree,"  said  Mrs, 
Eldridge,  very  positively,  "  and  you  mustn't  punish 
him." 

There  came  a  rush  of  angry  feelings  into  the 
heart  of  Mr.  Eldridge  at  this  interference,  and  with 
an  impatient  jerk  he  flung  William  past  him  into 
his  office.  The  impulse  given  to  the  boy  wag 
stronger  than  the  father  had  designed ;  for,  on  re 
leasing  his  hold  upon  his  arm,  William  was  thrown 
with  some  violence  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room,  where  he  struck  against  a  chair.  There  wad 
an  instant  wild  outcry,  that  pealed  through  the 
bouse. 

"  Oh,  dear !    Oh,  dear !    Oh,  my  head  !  my  head  !*' 

"Brute!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eldridge. 


140  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

Dr.  Penrose  had  entered  just  as  William  reached 
the  door  of  his  father's  office,  and  witnessed  all  that 
pissed.  Mr.  Eldridge  saw  him  standing  by  the  sido 
of  his  wife,  as  he  turned  toward  her  on  hearing  the 
offensive  epithet  she  had  applied  to  him,  and  he  was 
stung  by  a  sense  of  disgrace  that  went  deep  into  hi  a 
heart. 

""William!  Cease  crying  this  instant!"  he  said, 
Bternly.  But  the  boy  heeded  him  not. 

"  You've  crippled  him,  I  suppose."  Half  triumph 
ant  was  the  tone  in  which  Mrs.  Eldridge  uttered 
these  words,  as  if  she  had  an  interest  in  fixing  some 
wrong  upon  her  husband. 

Fearing  that  the  boy  had  sustained  a  serious  in 
jury,  Dr.  Penrose  stepped  into  the  office,  and,  pass 
ing  over  to  William,  said  to  him,  in  a  quiet,  authori 
tative  voice, — 

"  Stop  this  crying,  and  tell  me  where  you  are 
hurt." 

"Here! — oh,  here!"  And  William  held  his 
hands  against  the  side  of  his  head.  The  doctor  laid 
his  fingers  on  the  injured  parts,  and  found  a  lump 
like  a  pigeon's  egg. 

"It's  here,  is  it?"  he  inquired. 

"  Yes.     Oh,  dear  !     Oh,  dear  !" 

"  Come  !  come  !  Stop  this  crying,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  in  a  commanding  way.  "You're  not  hurt,  of 
any  consequence." 

This  decision  in  the  case  was  final ;  and  so  William 
felt  it  to  be,  for  he  ceased  his  outcry  instantly. 

The  scene  now  was  painfully  embarrassing  to  all 


MOKE   STRIFE.  141 

parties.  Mr.  Eldridge  felt  himself  disgraced  iu  the 
doctor's  eyes  by  the  opprobrious  epithet  of  his  wife, 
made  under  circumstances  that,  seen  only  in  a  single 
aspect,  gave  color  to  the  implication. 

"  Al'  this  is  bad,  and  all  very  mortifying,  doctor," 
he  said,  after  a  pause.  "  But  don't  think  the  worst 
of  it.  I  have  causes  of  disturbance  that  lie  deeper, 
perhaps,  than  you  imagine.  Will  you  go  up  and 
BeeKaty?" 

The  voice  of  Mr.  Eldridge  softened  with  the  last 
sentence. 

The  doctor  left  the  door  and  went  up-stairs  without 
a  word  in  reply. 

"Harriet!"  (Mr.  Eldridge  turned  with  an  indig 
nant  expression  to  his  wife,  the  instant  that  Dr. 
Penrose  left  them ;)  "I  have  borne  a  great  deal  from 
you  during  the  few  troubled  years  of  our  married 
life,  and  I  could  have  borne  a  great  deal  more  if  it 
went  not  beyond  the  annoyances  incident  to  an  ill- 
regulated,  selfish,  impatient  temper.  But,  when  yon 
add  to  all  this  disgrace  of  yourself  and  family  and 
insult  to  me,  you  go  a  step  too  far,  as  you  will  find 
to  your  sorrow." 

"Oh,  don't  make  any  weak  threats,"  was  an 
swered,  with  a  sneer.     "I'm  used  to  them." 

To  this  Mr.  Eldridge  said  not  a  word,  but  passed 
her  iu  the  door  of  his  office,  and  went  up  to  join 
the  doctor  at  Katy's  bedside. 

"I'm  glad  to  find  her  so  comfortable,"  said  Dr. 
Penrose,  turning  from  Katy,  over  whom  he  wa* 
standing.  "  She  has  no  pain." 


142  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

"What  was  the  matter  with  "William?  Katy 
looked  earnestly  at  her  father,  and  with  a  troubled 
expression  of  countenance,  as  she  made  the  inquiry. 

"Nothing  but  a  little  bruise  on  his  head,"  replied 
tie  doctor,  not  waiting  for  Mr.  Eldridge  to  answer 
"He  fell  against  a  chair." 

o 

"I'm  sure  he  didn't  mean  to  hurt  me,"  said  Katy. 
"He  didn't  know  I'd  fall." 

" Oh,  no;  of  course  he  didn't  mean  to  do  it,"  said 
.he  doctor.  "It  was  only  in  play." 

"I've  shaken  the  tree  when  he  was  in  it, — and 
not  in  play,  either."  Katy  spoke  the  words  as  if 
to  herself,  closing  the  sentence  in  a  tone  of  seli- 
reproach.  "But  I'll  never  do  it  again,"  she  added, 
with  a  sigh.  "I  wouldn't  have  him  fall  and  got 
hurt  so  for  the  world !" 

Her  eyes  filled,  and  she  closed  the  lids  over  them 
tightly. 

"Don't  punish  him  for  it.  He  didn't  know  I 
would  fall.  You  won't  whip  him  ?  will  you,  father  ?" 
she  said,  a  moment  after,  glancing  up,  through  tear 
ful  eyes,  into  her  father's  face. 

"  No,  my  dear  child ;  no !"  Mr.  Eldridge  answered 
with  unusual  earnestness  and  in  a  voice  not  un 
touched  by  emotion.  "Of  course,  your  brother 
would  not  hurt  you  so  badly  on  purpose." 

Katy  seemed  relieved  by  this  assurance.  She 
made  no  further  remark,  but  lay  with  her  large  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  face  of  her  father,  between  whom  and 
herself  there  had  suddenly  grown  up  a  new  and 
tender  interest.  What  depth  and  beauty  were  in 


MORE   STRIFE.  143 

those  dark  eyes !  Mr.  Eldridge  wondered  as  he 
looked  into  them. 

"  She  must  not  he  moved,"  said  the  doctor,  speak 
ing  aside  to  Mr.  Eldridge,  who  seemed  scarcely  to 
\ear  him. 

"'We  must  now  leave  her  in  your  care,"  added  the 
doctor.  "  See  that  she  is  kept  as  quiet  as  possible ; 
and  do  not,  on  any  account,  permit  a  change  of 
position." 

"All  that  you  direct  shall  be  carefully  observed," 
answered  Mr.  Eldridge.  "I  will  remain  with  her 
myself  all  night." 

The  eyes  of  Katy  turned  with  a  look  of  grateful 
wonder  toward  her  father.  It  was  a  new  thing  in 
the  history  of  her  young  life  to  have  any  one  express 
interest  in  her,  much  less  accept  self-denial  for  her 
sake.  Rarely  had  her  father  spoken  to  her,  except 
to  rebuke.  She  had  been  repelled  from  rather  than 
drawn  toward  him.  He  had  been  a  stern  reprover 
in  the  family, — not  a  loving  and  confiding  friend. 
This  was  the  aspect  in  which  the  wayward,  ill-regu 
lated,  impulsive  child  had  regarded  her  father,  not 
conscious  that  it  was  her  selfishness  and  ill-nature 
that  repelled  him.  The  change,  not  understood,  was 
felt  in  the  deeper  places  of  her  young  heart,  where 
no  light  had  penetrated  before.  Sun-rays  had  strug 
gled  in  through  rifted  clouds,  and  were  warming  the 
earth  of  her  spirit,  upon  which  good  seeds  were 
scattered  by  attendant  angels. 

"Lie  as  still  as  you  can,"  said  the  doctor,  stooping 
over  Katy,  and  speaking  kindly,  "  and  be  as  patient 


144  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

as  you   can.     I  will  see  you   again   early   in   the 
morning." 

"  Good-by,  dear."  Mrs.  Penrose  kissed  the  little 
sufferer.  "I'll  call  around  this  evening  and  see  you 
again." 

"Good-by,"  murmured  Katy. 

"I  shall  not  soon  forget  this  kindness,"  said  Mr. 
Eklridge,  as  he  grasped  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Penrose. 
"What  should  we  have  done  without  you?" 

"Poor  child!  If  we  could  only  restore  her  by 
days,  or  weeks,  or  even  months,  of  attention,  how 
gladly  would  it  be  given !"  replied  Mrs.  Penrose. 

The  doctor  and  his  wife  retired,  and  Mr.  Eklridge 
returned  and  sat  down,  with  a  sad  spirit,  by  the  bed 
side  of  his  injured  little  one.  Her  small  white  hand 
lay  extended  toward  him,  and  he  took  it  gently,  and 
caressed  it  with  a  tenderness  of  touch  that  thrilled 
pleasantly  to  the  heart  of  Katy. 

"I  don't  feel  any  pain  now,  father,"  she  said. 

"I'm  very  glad  of  it,  dear;  but  you  mustn't  talk. 
The  doctor  wants  you  to  lie  very  quiet.  I'll  sit  here. 
Now  shut  your  eyes  and  try  and  get  to  sleep." 

Katy  closed  her  eyes  in  obedience  to  the  words 
But  the  gentle  wreathing  of  her  lips  in  transient 
smiles,  and  the  quivering  of  her  lashes,  showed  that 
sleep  was  a  stranger  to  her  senses,  though  she  re 
mained,  until  the  darkness  of  night  closed  in,  still 
as  if  in  slumber.  If  pain  ran  harshly  along  a  nerve, 
she  gave  no  sign  of  suffering;  if  weariness  oppressed 
her  frame,  she  stirred  not. 

Nearly  an  hour  went  by,  all  the  inmates  of  the 


ALIENATION.  115 

house  beyond  the  chamber  preserving  a  marked 
s1  illness,  as  if  death  were  in  the  dwelling.  Then 
Air.  Eldridge  noted  a  deeper  breathing.  It  was  ai 
most  dark  in  the  room,  and  he  could  not  tell  by  the 
f:u:e  of  Katy  whether  she  slept  or  not.  But  in  A 
little  while  all  doubt  was  removed,  and  he  knew  that 
swel.  forgetfulness  had  stolen  upon  her  spirit.  With 
quiet  steps  he  went  to  the  window  and  drew  the  cur 
tains  closer,  then  went  softly  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

ALIENATION. 

THE  news  of  the  accident  to  Katy  soon  passed 
from  1  p  to  lip,  until  most  of  the  people  in  Arden 
knew  of  its  occurrence.  Friends,  neighbors,  and 
even  strangers  to  the  family,  called  during  the  even 
ing  to  make  inquiries  or  sympathize  with  Mrs.  El 
d ridge  in  her  trouble.  Among  these  were  Mrs. 
Weakly  and  Mrs.  Glendy,  who  remained  with  their 
distressed  friend  longest  and  latest  of  all.  When 
Dr.  Penrose  came  in,  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock, 
to  see  his  little  patient,  he  found  her  awake,  a 
glare  of  lighted  lamps  in  the  room,  and  her  mo 
ther,  with  three  or  four  women, — among  them  the 
two  jufet  mentioned, — seated  close  to  her  bed,  in  a 
lively  round  of  conversation. 

"  This  won't  do,  friends,"  he  said,  promptly    "  My 
13 


14(5  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

little  patient  must  be  kept  quiet.  It  was  my  last 
direction.  Will  you  remove  one  of  those  lights, 
Mrs.  Eklridge?" 

There  was  so  much  displeasure  in  the  doctor's 
voice  that  his  words  had  instant  effect.  The  women 
elt  the  rebuke,  and  most  of  them  retired  from  the 
partment. 

Dr.  Pen  rose  found  the  pulse  of  Katy  consider 
ably  excited.  And  no  wonder,  after  all  she  had 
been  listening  to  from  the  lips  of  three  or  four  gos 
siping  females,  who  had  become  so  much  interested 
in  their  own  tittle-tattle  as  to  forget  that  a  listener 
was  present  whose  ears  could  not  help  drinking  in 
their  words  with  thirsty  eagerness. 

"You  must  excuse  the  remark,  Mrs.  Eldridge," 
said  Dr.  Penrose,  when  left  finally  alone  with  the 
mother  of  Katy,  "but  all  this  is  very  thoughtless 
and  very  wrong.  I  was  particular  in  saying  that 
your  child  must  be  kept  very  quiet.  Her  life  de 
pends  upon  it." 

"I  can't  see,  doctor,  how  I  was  to  help  myself," 
was  answered,  a  little  petulantly.  "If  neighbors 
will  come  in  and  talk,  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"Keep  them  from  the  room  where  your  sick  child 
iies.  The  remedy  is  very  simple,  madam." 

"It  is  easy  enough " 

"Madam!" — the  doctor's  impatient  spirit  boil  d 
over: — "Madam!"  he  interrupted  her,  speaking  iu 
a  low  voice, — "you  are  a  mother ;  and  a  niotlx-t  8 
heart,  if  in  the  right  place,  needs  no  promptings  to 
duty  in  a  case  like  this." 


ALIENATION.  147 

Mrs.  Eldrklge  tossed  her  head  with  an  offended 
manner,  as  she  replied, — 

"I  am  not  used  to  hearing  such  language,  sir, 
from  any  one." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  replied  the  doctor,  who  was  not 
overstocked  with  patience  at  any  time,  and  who  felt 
particularly  worried  just  now.  "I  have  spoken  only 
the  truth,  as  required  by  my  professional  obligations. 
If  you  will  not  hear,  my  skirts  are  freed  from  con 
sequences." 

All  this  was  said  by  the  doctor  in  an  undertone, 
so  that  his  words  could  not  reach  Katy's  ears.  As 
he  closed  the  last  sentence  he  turned  abruptly  away 
from  Mrs.  Eldridge,  who  fairly  rushed  from  the  room, 
and  sought  her  husband,  to  whom,  with  crimsoned 
face  and  passion-burning  eyes,  she  exclaimed, — 

"Dr.  Penrose  has  insulted  me!" 

"You  have  probably  misinterpreted  his  language," 
said  Mr.  Eldridge,  coolly. 

"I  tell  you  I  have  not!  He  has  insulted  me;  and 
you  are  no  man  if  you  do  not  resent  it!" 

"  In  what  way  has  he  insulted  you  ?"  Mr.  Eldridge 
still  remained  cool  in  exterior,  almost  to  indifference. 

"By  words  and  deportment,  both!"  was  replied. 

"I  presume  he  turned  that  tribe  of  gossiping, 
thoughtless  women  out  of  Katy's  room ;  and  I  am 
glad  he  had  nerve  enough  to  do  so.  It  is  no  more 
than  I  ought  to  have  done  an  hour  asro." 

'•And  why  didn't  you  do  it,  pray?"  retorted  Mrs. 
Eldridge,  with  a  sneer,  her  whole  manner  suddenly 
changing. 


1  48  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO  ? 

"Only  that  I  feared  it  would  be  worse  for  our 
poor  eliild."  Mr.  Eldridge  said  this  in  a  low,  almost 
ead,  voice. 

"Worse  for  her?     I  don't  understand  yon  !" 

"No  matter.  They're  gone  no\v,  thank  heaven! 
and  poor  Katy  has  some  chance  again  for  the  rest 
and  quiet  so  essential  to  her  condition.  If  it  is  on 
this  account  that  you  are  offended  with  the  doctor, 
I  cannot  resent  any  thing  that  has  been  said,  though 
he  have  spoken  never  so  sharply." 

Thus,  every  new  aspect  of  affairs  had  the  effect  to 
separate  and  alienate  instead  of  uniting  the  parents, 
at  a  time  when  the  pressure  of  misfortune,  in  the 
case  of  their  child,  should  have  driven  them  closer 
together.  In  fact,  the  incidents  of  the  day  in  which 
each  had  taken  a  peculiar  part  were  in  no  way  cal 
culated  to  bring  the  mind  in  harmony  with  itself  or 
to  produce  a  right  state  of  feeling  toward  others. 
The  rapidly-gliding  hours  had  seen  Eldridge  in  a 
continued  fever  of  excitement;  while  the  employ 
ment  and  associations  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  alto 
gether  failed  to  leave  with  her  approving  thoughts 
or  tranquil  feelings.  The  intrusion  of  her  husband 
at  Mrs.  Glendy's,  and  his  consequent  knowledge  of 
her  presence  there,  produced,  even  with  the  grief  oi 
her  child's  misfortune,  a  state  of  defiance  toward 
him  not  in  any  degree  lessened  by  the  few  angry 
passages  which  had  already  occurred  between  them. 

Very  darkly  fell  the  shadows  over  this  unhappy 
household.  The  night  was  one  memorable  in  the 
history  of  itf  inmates.  The  husband  and  wife  occu- 


ALIENATION.  14S 

pied  rooms  separate  from  each  other, — Mr.  Eldridge 
remaining,  all  the  hours  until  morning  broke,  in  the 
chamber  with  Katy,  toward  whom  his  heart  yearned 
witi  a  new-born  compassion.  Not  for  ah  instant 
during  the  time  had  sleep  weighed  down  his  eyelids; 
but  all  through  the  long  watcbes  thought  battled 
with  thought,  and  his  mind  groped  about  in  the 
darkness  of  the  present,  eagerly  seeking  for  light 
upon  the  future.  The  real  character  of  Craig  was 
now  as  plainly  revealed  to  him  as  if  "gambler"  had 
been  written  on  his  forehead ;  and,  after  a  full  review 
of  his  relation  toward  that  individual,  judgment  and 
conscience  both  decided  that  it  would  be  wiser  and 
better  to  have  no  further  trials  of  skill  with  him,  but 
to  meet  the  losses  already  sustained  as  best  he  could. 
This  conclusion  was  not  arrived  at  without  a  struo-o-le 

oo 

against  the  necessity  of  giving  up  all  hope  of  reco 
vering  the  large  sums  of  money  he  had  lost,  amount 
ing  to  over  nine  hundred  dollars. 

The  result  touching  Judge  Gray  and  the  land 
speculations  was  not  so  clear.  Many  things  led  him 
to  believe  that  between  Craig  and  the  judge  there 
existed  an  evil  compact;  while  other  considerations 
came  in  with  strong  doubts  of  the  justice  of  any 
such  conclusion.  Now  that  the  loss  of  nine  hun 
dred  dollars  to  Craig  was  regarded  as  inevitable, 
the  greater  necessity  existed  for  obtaining  money  by 
some  quicker  way  than  iiis  profession  afforded. 

But  for  this  necessity  he  would  have  decided  to 
abandon  at  once  all  his  recently-formed  connections 

vith  a  company  of  men  in  whonc  he  did  not  feu] 

is* 


150  WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO  ? 

the  clearest  confidence.  If,  wing-weary,  his  spirit 
could  now  have  flown  back  to  the  ark  of  home,  sure 
that  a  hand  would  be  extended  to  receive, — sure  of 
a  loving  heart  to  welcome, — with  what  eager,  trem 
bling  hope,  like  the  dove  of  old,  would  that  spiri 
have  fluttered  its  pinions  in  the  troubled  air,  soon  to 
fold  them  in  peace  and  safety!  In  this  hour  of 
darkness  and  temptation — of  conflict  between  good 
and  evil — the  loving  voice  of  a  true-hearted  wife, 
uttering  words  of  divine  power, — "Peace;  be  still!" 
— would  have  ended  the  strife.  The  waters  would 
have  been  assuaged;  the  bow  of  promise  would 
have  spanned  beautifully  the  heaven  of  his  soul. 

Alas  for  him  that  it  was  not  so !  When  the 
morning  broke  upon  nature  it  did  not  image  the 
state  of  Eldridge.  His  mind  was  still  in  darkness, 
confusion,  and  doubt.  He  felt  weak  for  good,  and 
almost  desperate  under  the  assaults  of  evil. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  night  Katy  had  been 
restless,  though  she  complained  but  little  and 
seemed  grateful  for  every  attention  received  from 
her  father.  The  morning  showed  a  pale  face,  on 
which  no  eye  could  fail  to  note  marks  of  suffering 

"Have  you  been  up  all  night,  father?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered,  gently. 

"  Where  is  mother  ?" 

"In  the  next  room." 

Katy  looked  earnestly  at  her  father  for  some  mo- 
Lients,  and  with  an  unusual  expression  on  her  face. 

"Kiss  me,"  she  murmured  at  last.  The  request 
was  spoken  timidly,  as  if  she  were  in  doubt  whether 


AN   EXCITING   SCENE.  151 

her  father  would  respond  as  her  heart  desired.  He 
did  rQspor.d,  and  with  a  tenderness  that  satisfied  her 
spint,  thirsting  for  repeated  draughts  at  the  now 
well-spring  of  love  which  had  suddenly  burst  forth 
iu  tLe  desert  of  her  young  life. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

AN     EXCITING     SCENE. 

T  IERE  are  few  sacrifices  of  feeling  that  a  true  wife 
Trill  not  make  for  her  husband  when  the  trial  of  her 
love  comes.  Mrs.  Penrose  had  a  native  delicacy  of 
feolmg  and  a  sense  of  personal  independence  that 
caused  her  to  shrink  from  trespassing  in  any  way 
upon  the  rights  or  privileges  of  others.  She  was 
ever  ready  to  confer  favors,  but  rarely  asked  of 
another  any  thing  for  herself. 

From  the  moment  she  became  aware  of  the  pecu 
liar  difficulties  that  beset  her  husband's  way,  she 
resolved  to  aid  him,  if  it  were  in  a  woman's  power 
to  do  so.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  call  upon  Mr. 
Barlow  and  seek  to  divert  him  from  his  stern  pur 
pose.  But  the  more  she  thought  of  this,  the  less 
inclined  was  she  to  put  either  herself  or  her  husband 
MI  so  unpleasant  a  relation  to  any  man.  The  act 
•nvolvcd  a  diminution  of  self-respect,  and  pride 
awakened  with  a  protest  So  that  purpose  was,  iui 
a  time,  abandoned. 


152  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

The  doctor's  countenance  continued  to  wear  a 
sober  aspect,  as  day  after  day  went  by  and  the 
means  of  extrication  from  his  difficulties  appeared 
as  remote  as  ever.  He  talked  but  little  with  hia 
w'fc  cm  the  subject.  When  he  did  refer  to  it  she 
always  spoke  encouragingly,  and  said  that  she  knew 
the  worst  he  dreaded  would  never  come.  At  last, 
notice  of  an  immediate  foreclosure  of  the  mortgage 
was  served  and  a  day  of  sale  mentioned.  Dr.  Pen- 
rose  was  stricken  down  with  despair.  His  hands 
dropped  helplessly.  He  felt  like  abandoning  his 
struggle  with  the  world. 

"Never  give  up!"  said  his  wife  firmly.  "The 
darkest  hours  of  the  night  are  just  before  clay- 
dawn." 

"There  will  be  no  day-dawn  for  us,  Lucy,"  was 
the  sad  reply.  "  We  are  in  the  hands  of  one  who 
knows  not  mercy.  Our  pleasant  home  must  be 
given  up, — the  little  we  have  saved  through  self- 
denials  wept  away  I  cannot  bear  the  thought !  It 
maddens  me !" 

A  low  voice,  full  of  loving  assurance,  stole  over 
his  spirit  and  calmed  its  turbulence. 

"You  shame  me,  Lucy,"  said  Dr.  Penrose.  "1 
will  be  more  of  a  man,  and  bear  this  trouble,  ao  I 
ehould,  with  a  manlier  firmness." 

After  u  pause,  he  added,  "I  will  take  heart 
again,  and  make  a  new  eftbrt  to  save  myself.  I  will 
see  Judge  Gray  this  very  night,  and  have  another 
talk  with  him.  He  has  always  shown  a  friendly 
Spirit,  and  may,  when  he  learns  to  what  extremity 


AN    EXCITING    SCENE.  1 

Barlow  is  about  proceeding,  put  it  into  my  t-.»wcr 
to  prevent  the  sacrifice  he  seems  bent  on  making. 
Acquainted  with  all  legal  matters  as  he  is,  he  will  at 
least  advise  me  how  best  to  act  in  this  trying  emer 
gency." 

The  bare  mention  of  Judge  Gray's  name  in  this 
connection  caused  an  unpleasant  feeling  to  arise  in 
the  mind  of  Mrs.  Penrose.  Since  she  had  heard  of 
his  meetings,  with  other  citizens  of  Arden,  at 
McQuillan's,  and  of  his  effort  to  get  her  husband  to 
join  in  these  convocations,  she  had  looked  upon  nil 
association  with  him  as  involving  some  unknown 
danger,  and  there  now  arose  a  vague  fear  in  her 
heart  which  it  was  impossible  to  overcome.  Tbe 
impulse  to  say  "Don't  go  to  him"  was  so  strong  that 
she  repressed  it  with  difficulty. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  Dr.  Penrose  had 
hurried  through  his  visits,  and  was  home  earlier 
than  usual. 

"  After  tea  I  will  go  around  and  see  the  judge," 
he  said,  as  hope  began  to  revive  the  longer  he 
thought  of  once  more  applying  to  Judge  Gray. 

Mrs.  Penrose  made  no  response. 

"  I'm  not  sure,"  added  the  doctor,  "  that  I  have 
been  right  in  keeping  aloof  from  him,  after  his  co-v 
dial  way  of  treating  me  last  week.  He  as  good  aa 
received  my  word  to  meet  him  with  some  other  gen 
tlemen  at  McQuillan's;  and  I  am  not  altogether 
satisfied  that  1  was  right  in  failing  to  keep  my 
promise.  The  fact  is,"  he  added,  "promises  should 
always  be  kept  sacredly  " 


WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

"I  am  in  part  to  blame  for  that,  you  know,"  said 
Mrs.  Penrose,  forcing  a  smile. 

"I  believe  you  are;  but  you  meant  well,  as  you 
always  do,"  replied  her  husband.  "I  only  hope  it 
is  not  jet  too  late  to  gain  what  I  desired  to  gain  last 
tvcek. — the  substantial  interest  of  Judge  Gray.'' 

Mrs.  Penrose  said  nothing  in  answer  to  this, 
though  her  heart  sunk  within  her.  Without  know 
ing  any  thing  of  Judge  Gray,  his  associations  01 
principles,  that  gave  color  to  her  fears,  she  felt  an 
overwhelming  dread  of  having  her  husband  come 
into  any  kind  of  intimate  association  with  him,  par 
ticularly  under  present  circumstances,  when  the  des 
perate  condition  of  his  affairs  laid  him  open  to 
temptation.  Some  household  duty  claiming  her 
attention,  she  left  him,  without  venturing  a  word  of 
opposition  to  the  purpose  he  had  declared. 

After  tea,  Mrs.  Penrose  said  to  her  husband,  com 
ing  to  the  door  of  his  office,  whither  he  had  gone 
after  leaving  the  table, — 

"I  am  going  out  for  a  few  minutes.  Don't  leave 
until  I  return." 

"You  mustn't  stay  long,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  I 
have  two  or  three  patients  to  visit,  and  want  to  sea 
them  early." 

"I'll  be  gone  only  a  very  little  while.  So  be  sure 
to  wait  for  rue." 

Mri.  Penrose  left  the  house,  and  took  her  way 
down  the  street  with  a  step  firm  enough  to  show  a 
definite  purpose,  yet  a  little  hurried, — indicative  of 
disturbed  or  anxious  thought.  The  fact  was.  she 


AN  EXCITING   SCENE.  155 

hart  made  up  her  mind  to  try  the  desperate  resort 
of  an  ^.peal  to  Mr.  Barlow  himself,  as  less  to  be 
feared  or  deprecated  than  an  application  for  aid  to 
Judge  (liuy. 

Mr.  Ba7  low's  residence  was  at  some  distance  froip 
that  part  of  the  town  where  Dr.  Penrose  resided, 
and  Mrs.  Penrose  moved  on  quickly,  the  evening 
twilight  f  Jling  around  and  deepening  steadily  to 
ward  darl  ness.  As  she  drew  nearer  and  nearer  the 
dwelling  t«f  their  unfeeling  creditor  her  heart  beat 
more  heavily,  her  thoughts  were  more  confused,  and 
she  could  fix  upon  no  manner  of  address  that  was 
satisfactory  to  her  own  mind,  as  promising  to  give 
the  subject  of  her  mission  a  favorable  introduction. 
A  little  way  from  the  house  she  paused  to  recover 
the  even  tone  of  her  mind,  disturbed  beyond  its 
wont.  It  was  a  new  errand  to  her,  that  upon  which 
Bhe  was  speeding,  and  one  the  thought  of  which 
caused  a  painful  sense  of  humiliation.  All  her 
native  pride  and  independence  arose  in  opposition 
to  the  act  proposed,  and  she  felt  her  cheeks  growing 
hot  with  shame.  But  weak  hesitation  must  not 
continue.  There  was  a  stern  duty  to  perform ;  and 
the  time  had  corne.  So  she  moved  on  again. 

The  dwelling  of  Mr.  Barlow  stood  a  little  way 
from  the  street,  and  the  entrance  was  through  a 
flower-garden.  Mrs.  Penrose  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  gate,  swung  it  open,  and  stepped  inside  upon 
the  gravel  walk  that  led  up  to  the  door.  As  she 
turned,  after  closing  the  gate,  to  pass  down  the 
walk,  she  noticed  a  ight  glancing  from  one  window 


156  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO  ? 

to  another,  in  the  upper  rooms,  as  if  carried  by 
some  person  in  a  hurried  manner.  Voices  were 
heard  in  quick  ejaculations.  Then  a  sharp  cry  of 
pain  reached  the  ears  of  Mrs.  Penrose.  It  was  the 
cry  of  a  child.  With  a  woman's  and  a  mother's 
instinct  she  sprung  forward  toward  the  house. 

"Run  for  Dr.  Penrose!"  she  heard  Mrs.  Barlow 
Bay,  in  a  voice  of  anguish. 

"No!"  was  quickly  responded  :  "go  for  Dr. 
Grant."  Mrs.  Penrose  knew  the  speaker  to  be  Mr. 
Barlow. 

Before  the  messenger  left  the  door,  Mrs.  Penrose 
entered. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked,  with  an  ear 
nestness  and  sympathy  that  was  felt,  even  by  the 
half-abashed  creditor,  to  be  real. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Penrose!  is  it  you?  I'm  so  glad! 
Come  here  as  quickly  as  you  can  !  What  shall  we 
do  ?  Our  Anna  is  dreadfully  scalded !" 

Mrs.  Barlow  had  grasped  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Pen 
rose,  and  was  almost  dragging  her  away. 

"Is  the  doctor  at  home  ?"  asked  Mr.  Barlow,  in  a 
hurried  voice. 

"I  left  him  there  just  now,"  replied  Mrs.  Penrose, 

"John,  go  for  Dr.  Penrose,"  said  Mr.  Barlow; 
"and  tell  him  to  come  quickly.  Say  that  Ann  i  la 
badly  scalded,  and  that  he  must  not  delay  an  In 
stant." 

The  messenger  darted  off,  and  Mrs.  Penrose  wcMit 
back  into  the  sitting-room,  where  sho  found  the 
youngest  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barlow,  a  child 


AN   EXCITING    SCENE.  lf>7 

about  six  years  old,  writhing  in  anguish  indescrib- 
able  and  screaming  wildly.  She  had  gone  to  the 
etove,  on  which  was  a  kettle  of  boiling  water,  set  by 
a  d  miestic  carelessly  on  the  edge,  and,  in  reaching 
over  tor  something,  had  thrown  it  over,  the  contents 
penetrating  her  garments  on  one  side  and  scalding 
her  from  the  hips  downward.  In  the  wild  excite 
ment  that  followed  no  one  had  yet  attempted  to  re 
move  the  little  one's  garments,  so  that  the  real  in 
jury  she  had  sustained  was  not  known. 

"Bring  me  a  sheet,  of  raw  cotton,  and  some  sweet- 
oil  or  lard,"  said  Mrs.  Penrose,  in  a  firm  voice,  at 
once  assuming  to  direct  where  all  had  lost  their  self- 
possession.  She  then  lifted  the  child  carefully  in 
her  arms,  speaking  to  her  encouraging  and  compas 
eionate  words,  and  commenced  removing  her  clothes. 
All  her  left  hip,  and  the  leg  down  to  the  ankle,  were 
of  an  angry  crimson,  with  here  and  there  white 
spots,  where  blisters  were  already  forming. 

"Be  quick!"  said  Mrs.  Penrose.     "Let  me  have 
tbe  cotton  and  oil  with  as  little  delay  as  possible." 

"  Don't  cry,  dear,"  she  added,  speaking  encourag 
ingly  to  the  child.     "  It  won't  hurt  you  long." 

Mr.  Barlow,  whose  feelings  were  greatly  shocked, 
and  who  felt  like  going  off'  to  some  remote  pait  of 
the  house,  that  he  might  neither  see  the  condition 
of  his  child  or  hear  her  terrible  screams,  forced  him 
self,  from  something  like  duty,  to  come  forward  and 
see  to  what  extent 'the  little  one  was  injured.  A 
sight  of  the  scalded  limb  caused  him  to  utter  an  ex 
clamation  of  pain,  and  turn,  sickening,  away. 

H 


153  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"  My  poor,  poor  child !  It  is  dreadful  Can 
nothing  be  done  for  her?  Oh,  when  will  the  doctor 
be  here  ?"  he  said,  as  he  paced  the  floor  with  hurried 
atcps. 

"There  is  no  oil  in  the  house,"  said  Mrs.  Barlow, 
coming  into  the  room  ;  "  but  here  is  lard :"  she  held 
a  plate  in  her  hand. 

"That  will  do,"  replied  Mrs.  Penrose.  "Now 
bring  me  a  little  soot  from  the  chimney.  Get  it  aa 
quickly  as  possible.  A  handful  will  do." 

The  soot  was  brought  with  scarcely  a  moment's 
delay,  and  thrown  upon  the  lard  by  direction  of  Mrs. 
Penrose,  who  hastily  mixed  it  with  her  hand  and 
then  laid  it  upon  the  burned  flesh.  All  over  this 
the  cotton  was  spread,  so  that  every  part  of  the 
scalded  surface  was  entirely  covered  from  the  air. 
By  the  time  this  was  done,  the  cries  of  Anna  had 
ceased ;  and  her  eyes,  swimming  in  tears,  were  fixed 
upon  the  earnest  face  of  Mrs.  Penrose  with  a  look 
full  of  gratitude.  Mr.  Barlow  had  witnessed,  with 
trembling  eagerness,  the  application,  and  saw  the 
almost  instantaneous  effect. 

"  We  have  taken  it  in  good  time,"  said  Mrs.  Pen- 
rose,  "and  I  think  the  skin  will  be  saved.  Poor 
child  !  you  feel  better  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  murmured  the  little  one,  still 
keeping  her  thankful  eyes  on  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Penroae. 

"God  bless  you!"  Mr.  Barlow's  feelings  were 
touched,  and  he  could  not  keep  back  from  his  lips 
the  gratitude  suddenly  felt  for  the  instrument  of 


AN   EXCITING   SCENE.  159 

relief  to  his  suffering  child.  "  I  shall  never  forget 
tins,  Mrs.  Penrose." 

Mrs.  Penrose  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  her 
h  isnand's  hard  creditor  and  looked  at  him  steadily 
for  a  few  moments.  He  understood  her,  for  his  gaze 
dropped.  But  he  looked  up  quickly,  and  returned 
her  glance  with  a  meaning  in  his  face  that  she  un 
derstood  as  well  as  if  he  had  clothed  his  thoughts  in 
words.  She  saw  that  he  was  conquered,  and  that 
their  dark  hour  of  trial  had  passed  away. 

Hurried  footsteps  along  the  passage  now  heralded 
the  arrival  of  Dr.  Penrose.  Mr.  Barlow  grasped  hia 
hand  as  he  came  in,  and  said, — 

"Thank  you,  doctor,  for  coming  so  promptly. 
Our  dear  little  Anna  has  met  with  a  sad  acci 
dent." 

"  Scalded  ?     So  I  understood  your  messenger." 

"  Yes ;  from  her  hip,  on  the  left  side,  down  to  the 
ankle." 

"What  has  been  done?"  Dr.  Penrose  turned 
toward  that  part  of  the  room  where  the  family  were 
grouped  around  the  child. 

"Lucy!"  he  ejaculated:  "you  here?" 

The  doctor's  surprise  was  genuine. 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "I  was  just  by  the  gate 
when  the  accident  happened,  and  have  done  all  I 
could  for  the  dear  child." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?" 

The  hurried  treatment  was  described. 

"  You  are  a  capital  doctor's  wife,"  said  Dr.  Pen- 
rose,  smiling.  "  I  don't  see  that  you  have  left  your 


IGO  "WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

husband  much  to  do.  Is  the  surface  of  the  skin 
well  covered?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  saw  to  that  particularly." 

"  Why  did  you  use  the  soot  in  the  lard  ?'  inquired 
the  doctor. 

"It  is  one  of  my  old  Aunt  Patty's  remedies',  and 
she  says  it  is  unfailing.  Many  a  burn  and  scald 
have  I  seen  her  treat  with  soot  and  lard,  and  blisters 
rarely  showed  themselves  afterward." 

"  Creosote  has,  of  late,  been  used  in  burns  by 
Borne  physicians,  and  with  encouraging  results," 
remarked  the  doctor.  "The  good  qualities  of  the 
soot,  if  any  there  be,  depend,  no  doubt,  on  the  pre 
sence  of  that  substance.  Apart  from  this,  however, 
the  other  applications  are  right ;  and  for  the  present 
we  will  not  disturb  them." 

"  She  appears  very  easy  now,"  said  the  mother  of 
Anna.  "  At  first  her  screams  were  awful,  and  chilled 
the  blood  to  my  heart.  But  almost  on  the  instant 
that  your  wife  commenced  covering  the  burn  her 
cries  lost  their  wild  anguish.  Oh,  how  shall  we  be 
sufficiently  thankful  for  her  timely  call  and  wise, 
prompt  action  ?"  • 

"  Dr.  Penrose," — Mr.  Barlow  laid  his  hand  on  the 
doctor's  arm, — "let  me  say  a  word  to  you." 

The  two  men  retired  across  the  room. 

"  We've  both  been  a  little  hasty  and  a  little  to 
blame,"  said  Mr.  Barlow  :  "I'm  not  a  hard  man  at 
the  core,  though  some  people  think  I  am.  I'm  irri 
table  and  self-willed,  and  rather  stubborn  sometimes, 
I  know,  and  apt  to  push  things  resolutely.  So  much 


AN    EXCITING   SCENE.  161 

in  explanation  of  a  matter  that  I  wish  had  neve* 
occurred.  But  we'll  let  the  past  go  for  what  it  is 
woj  th.  Your  good  wife  has  disarmed  and  rebuked 
me,  besides  laying  me  under  an  obligation  which  I 
would  be  worse  than  a  heathen  not  to  repay.  Take 
your  own  time,  doctor.  You'll  hear  no  mure  from 
me.  I  know,  and  every  man  in  Arden  knows,  you  to 
be  right  at  heart.  I  was  wrong,  and  so  felt  it  in  my 
conscience,  to  trouble  your  peace  as  I  have  done." 

Dr.  Penrose  caught  the  hand  of  Mr.  Barlow  and 
grasped  it  eagerly. 

"  You  have  lifted  a  crushing  weight  from  my 
heart,"  said  he.  "I  was  in  despair!" 

"Had  you  no  resource?"  inquired  Mr.  Barlow, 
who,  now  that  a  feeling  like  sympathy  for  his  debtor 
was  awakened,  felt  a  rising  curiosity  to  know  what 
he  had  proposed  doing. 

"  None  that  I  could  rely  upon.  As  a  last  resource, 
[  v  as  going  to  night  to  see  Judge  Gray  and  some 
of  his  friends;  and,  had  your  messenger  arrived 
ten  minutes  later,  he  would  not  have  found  me  at 
home." 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  moments. 

"Dr.  Penrose,"  (Mr.  Barlow  spoke  slowly,  and 
cith  unusual  emphasis,)  "let  me  say  this  to  you:— 
Sfware  of  Judge  Gray  and  his  friends!" 

"  May  I  ask  why  you  give  this  earnest  caution  ?" 
u  quired  the  doctor. 

"  I  say  nothing  further  Beware  of  Judge  Gray 
/lid  his  friends.  If  you  are  wise  you  will  heed  mj 
words;  and  time  will  verify  their  import." 

U* 


tt>2  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    BO  ? 

"I  shall  certainly  heed  them,"  said  Dr. Penrom 
"  for  they  but  echo  my  own  vague  suspicions." 

Dr.  Penrose  and  his  wife  went  homeward  a  littU 
while  after,  with  light  and  thankful  spirits: — their 
Bleep  was  sound  and  their  dreams  full  of  hopeful 
mages.  And  the  sleep  of  their  softened  creditor 
was  pleasanter,  for  all  the  grief  felt  for  his  suffering 
child,  than  it  would  have  been  had  noi  the  Angel  of 
Mercy  found  entrance  to  his  heart. 


CHAPTER 

SOWING   THE   WIND. 

SOON  after  day  dawned,  Mr.  Eldridge  went  to  the 
room  where  his  wife  slept,  and  awakened  her. 

"I've  been  up  all  night,  Harriet,"  said  he,  "and 
feel  very  weary.  "Will  you  come  and  stay  with 
Katy  while  I  lie  down  for  an  hour?" 

"  Will  I?  Of  course  I  will !  You  speak  as  if  I 
bad  no  interest  in  the  child !"  replied  Mrs.  Eldridge, 
pettishly. 

A  keen  retort  was  on  the  lips  of  Mr.  Eldridgo, 
but  he  kept  it  back. 

"Is  she  sleeping?"  inquired  Mrs. Eldridge. 

"  No ;  I  left  her  awake.  She  slept  tolerably  well 
through  the  night,  poor  child !" 

The  tone  of  pity  in  which  Mr.  Eldridge  said 
"poor  child"  annoyed  his  wife,  for  it  seemed  to 


SOWING    THE   WIND. 

imply  a  doubt  of  her  right  feeling  for  the  suffering 
little  one. 

"  Poor  child !"  She  repeated  the  words  in  a 
slightly-contemptuous  voice.  "You  talk  and  act 
as  if  nobody  cared  for  her  but  yourself!" 

"  Actions  speak  for  themselves,"  coldly  replied 
Mr.  Eldridge,  as  he  turned  away  and  went  to 
another  apartment. 

The  retort  stung  Mrs.  Eldridge;  for  she  had 
passed  the  night  sleeping,  while  her  husband 
watched  with  Katy. 

After  taking  some  time  to  dress,  she  went  into 
Katy's  room.  She  was  far  from  being  in  a  geutle 
frame  of  mind.  Tenderness  did  not  rule  her  Jael 
ings.  She  felt  cold  toward  her  child, — the  coldi.ess 
having  its  origin  in  the  implied  censure  of  her  hus 
band  for  that  indifference  which  could  permit  her  to 
sleep  through  the  night  and  leave  to  him  the  task 
of  watching.  She  did  not  smile  as  she  approached 
the  bed,  and  asked,  in  a  voice  that  stirred  no  loving 
emotion, — 

"How  are  you,  dear?" 

"I'm  better."  And  Katy,  whose  large  eyes  had 
been  eagerly  reading  her  mother's  face  for  eome 
love-records,  turned  her  head  aside,  and  let  the  long 
lashes,  wet  with  tears  of  pain  a  little  while  before, 
fall  slowly  upon  her  pale  cheeks.  How  sad  the  poor 
child  felt!  Helpless,  and  exhausted  by  suffering, 
her  heart  asked  for  tender  pity,  and  longed  for 
loving  words  that  only  a  mother's  voice  could  utter. 
But  they  came  not  at  the  moment  when  expectation 


WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

was  most  eager;  and  tbe  pain  of  disappointment 
then  felt  was  the  keenest  her  young  spirit  had 
tat  own. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  noticed  the  movement  and  was 
annoyed  by  it.  The  mother's  love  was  not  strong 
enough  in  her  heart  to  make  her  comprehend  the 
mental  condition  of  her  child.  She  did  not  under- 
Btantj  the  new  state  into  whicn  she  had  been  born, 
nor  imagined  the  new  capacities  and  new  desires 
with  which  she  had  been  suddenly  endowed. 

"  Why  do  you  turn  your  head  away?"  she  asked, 
in  a  quick,  stern  voice. 

Katy's  eyes  flew  up,  and,  with  a  surprised,  grieving 
took,  she  turned  them  upon  her  mother's  face.  Mrs. 
Eldridge  saw  that  they  were  full  of  tears. 

A  faint  glimmer  of  light  came  into  her  mind,  and 
an  emotion  of  true  pity  for  the  child  was  awakened 
in  her  heart ;  but  the  light  was  very  dim  and  the 
emotion  feeble. 

Katy  answered  not  in  words,  and  the  harsh  query 
was  not  repeated.  Silence  followed,  while  the  dis 
tance  between  mother  and  child  increased  instead 
of  diminishing. 

"Did  you  sleep  through  the  night?'    asked  Mrs 
Eldridge. 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Do  you  feel  any  pain  now  ?" 

"Not  much." 

"  You  feel  some  pain  ?" 

"  Fes,  ma'am." 

"  Where  ?" 


SOWING   THE   WIND.  165 

"  All  over  my  back." 

The  eyes  of  Katy  were  fixed  on  her  mother's  face, 
while  the  questions  and  answers  passed,  looking  foj 
Borne  tokens  of  the  pity  and  tenderness  for  which 
her  heart  was  panting.  But  she  found  them  not. 
The  selfish  mother's  thoughts  were  with  lerself 
rather  than  with  her  child.  Without  asking  Katy 
if  she  wanted  any  thing,  or  if  there  was  any  thing 
that  she  could  do  for  her,  Mrs.  Eldridge  left  tho 
bedside  and  commenced  putting  things  in  order 
about  the  room. 

"Was  ever  a  place  in  such  confusion?"  she  mut 
tered.  "  Dear !  dear !"  she  went  on,  as  she  moved 
about  the  room  ;  "  a  tumbler  of  water  spilled  on  the 
carpet,  that's  soaking  wet.  Who  did  ttiis  ?" 

"It  was  father,  I  believe,"  answered  Katy,  to 
whom  the  question  was  addressed. 

"I  didn't  suppose  it  was  anybody  else!" 

Katy  could  not  understand  why  her  mot>er  should 
turn  upon  her  with  an  angry  look  and  true,  when 
she  simply  answered  her  question,  and  (hat,  too, 
with  a  feeling  of  reluctance,  because  she  feared  that 
blame  might  be  attached  to  her  father. 

Talking  to  herself  in  a  fretful,  impatient,  way, 
Mrs.  Eklridge  continued  moving  about  the  room, 
until  every  thing  was  restored  to  something  iike 
order;  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  apartment  was  materially  changed  foi 
*he  better.  All  it  wanted  was  the  ligiit  of  love  to 
warm  its  icy  coldness  of  aspect  and  to  soften  its 
harsher  outlines. 


106  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

"Do  you  want  any  thing?" 

The  most  important  work  done, — that  of  "put 
ting  tilings  to  right," — the  mother  next  thought  of 
her  child.  The  question  was  made  in  a  tone  that 
almost  extorted  a  negative  answer,  it  was  so  full  of 
indifference. 

"No,  ma'am,"  answered  Katy.  There  was  a  sad- 
iiees  in  the  feeble  voice  which  uttered  these  words 
that  made  its  way  to  the  consciousness  of  Mrs.  El- 
dridge  and  rebuked  her  strange  coldness  toward  her 
child. 

"  Would  you  like  a  drink  of  cool  water?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am.     I'm  very  dry." 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  when  I  asked  a  moment 
ago  if  you  wanted  any  thing?" 

An  instant  flush  of  anger  was  in  the  mother's 
face. 

"  You  act  as  if  you  thought  I  didn't  want  to  do 
any  thing  for  you,"  she  added.  "  Now,  I'm  not  going 
to  have  any  of  this  sort  of  nonsense,  my  young  lady ! 
and  you  needn't  begin  with  it.  When  you  want  any 
thing,  say  so.  It  will  be  bad  enough  to  have  you 
lying  about  helpless, —  to  be  waited  on  for  every 
thing, — without  having  airs  put  on." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  left  the  room.  When  she  returned, 
Katy  \vas  sobbing  violently. 

"Here's  the  water,"  said  she,  in  a  cold,  almost 
harsh,  voice.  "Take  it." 

l>ut  Katy  did  not  look  up  nor  cease  weeping.  It 
was  not  from  passion,  nor  pride,  nor  captiousness, 
that  she  wept.  The  harsh  accusation  of  her  mother, 


SOWING   THE   WIND.  167 

fco  unj  ist  toward  her  and  so  cruel  under  the  circum 
stances,  had  smitten  her  young  heart,  in  which  new 
uud  tender  feelings  had  been  created,  with  such  pair 
thai  nature  cried  out  in  anguish. 

"Stop  this,  now!  I'll  have  none  of  it!"  Tho 
mother  spoke  very  "sharply. 

The  poor  child  tried  to  rally  herself, — tried  to  re 
press  the  nervous  impulses  that  were  ruling  her,— 
bat  in  vain.  She  sobbed  even  more  violently. 

"  Tuke  this  water !  Katy !  Do  you  hear  ?  You 
said  you  were  dry;  now  drink!  You  needn't  put  on 
these  airs.  They  go  for  nothing  with  me.  I  under 
stand  you!" 

Mrs.  Eldridge  was  angry  and  resolute,  and  Katy 
\vras  unable  to  control  herself. 

"You've  got  to  drink  it!"  said  the  mother,  blind 
with  passion. 

She  wa.s  passing  a  hand  under  the  shoulders  of 
Katy,  in  order  to  raise  her  up  and  force  the  water 
into  her  mouth,  when  her  husband,  who  had  been 
listening  in  a  state  of  strong  excitement  to  what  his 
wife  was  saying,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  his  feel 
ings,  came  into  the  room.  Seeing  the  movement, 
and  knowing  that,  the  instant  an  attempt  to  lift  he 
in  that  way  was  made,  terrible  pain,  if  not  displace* 
ment  of  the  spine,  would  be  the  consequence,  he 
nprung  forward,  and,  grasping  the  arm  of  his  wife, 
drew  her  from  the  bed  with  almost  a  giant's  force, 
^claiming,  as  he  did  so, — 

"  Mad  woman  !  do  you  wish  to  kill  your  child  ?" 

'  What  spirit  possesses  you  ?"  he  added,  turning 


168  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

to  where  she  now  stood  frightened  at  the  s  idden 
movement,  and  scowling  fiercely  upon  her.  "  Don't 
you  know  that  her  spine  is  injured  ?  and  that  sho 
n.ust  not  be  moved,  except  with  the  greatest  care  ?" 

A  little  while  the  husband  and  wife  stood  glaring 
at  each  other.  The  latter  soon  recovered  from  the 
stupor  of  surprise  into  which  the  assault  had  thrown 
her. 

You  will  repent  of  this,"  she  spoke,  in  a  low, 
resolute  voice.  "I  have  said  that  no  man  should 
ever  lay  his  hand  on  me  in  anger  and  not  repunt  of 
it;  and  I  will  keep  my  word  to  the  death  !" 

The  blood  which  had  a  few  moments  before  crim 
soned  her  face  all  left  it ;  and  she  stood,  mot'  >nlesa 
and  statue-like,  with  a  countenance  pale  ai  I  dis 
torted. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  in  no  mood  for  conciliatii  n  -.  so 
he  only  waved  his  hand  impatiently  and  curljd  his 
lip.  The  cool  contempt  with  which  he  mot  her 
threatening  words,  which  were  no  unmeaning  utter 
ance,  stung  his  wife  into  momentary  madness.  "With 
an  imprecation  that  startled  him  by  its  profanity, 
she  glanced  from  the  room  and  left  him  alone  with 
their  frightened  little  one. 

Silently  Mr.  Eldridge  sat  down  by  the  side  of 
"Katy,  partly  averting  his  face  from  her.  yet  moving 
his  hand  over  the  bed  until  it  rested  on  one  of  hers, 
which  it  grasped  with  a  tender  pressure,  that  waa 
returned  eagerly. 

"Will  you  have  some  water?"  he  asked,  after  a 
few  moments  had  elapsed. 


FALSE  FRIENDS. 

"No,  father.  I'm  not  dry  now,"  murmured  the 
child. 

" Don't  you  want  any  thing?" 

"No,  father." 

"  Does  your  back  pain  you  much  ?" 

"Not  now." 

The  heart  of  Mr.  Eldridge  swelled  with  tenderness 
for  Katy,  as  her  little  hand  kept  clasping  his,  its 
touch  of  love  thrilling  to  his  heart ;  and  he  leaned 
over  and  kissed  her. 

"I  love  you,  father!"  It  seemed  as  if  the  child 
could  not  keep  back  the  words  from  her  lips. 

"Dear  Katy !"  He  kissed  her  again,  and  then  sat 
for  a  long  time  silent,  buried  in  troubled  thoughts 
and  trying  to  penetrate  the  thick  clouds  that  dark 
ened  his  sky  and  shadowed  the  way  along  which  hia 
feet  must  tread. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FALSE   FRIENDS. 

"GooD  heavens!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  "Weakly;  "is 
Katy  dead?" 

"No.     It  would  be  better,  perhaps,  if  she  wrre!" 

"You  are  terribly  agitated,  Mrs.  Eldridsre.  What 
fcas  happened?" 

"  That  which  crushes  all  softness  out  of  rny 
woman's  heart.  Eldridge  has  dared  to  put  his 
hands  on  me  !" 

15 


170  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

"What!" 

"Has  dared  to  put  his  hands  on  ine  in  anger;  a*id 
I'll  never  forgive  him  !" 

"Sit  down;  calm  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Weakly. 
"This  is  a  serious  business!" 

"It  is  a  serious  business.  Half  an  hour  ago  he 
did  that  to  me  which  he  will  never  have  the  op 
portunity  of  repeating.  I  have  left  his  house,  and 
forever.  All  I  want  here  is  shelter  for  a  few  days, 
and  your  wise  counsel." 

"Both  of  which,  dear,  injured  friend,  you  shall 
have.  But  tell  me  all  that  has  happened." 

"  I  can  remember  nothing  except  that  he  laid  his 
hand  on  me  in  anger.  This  blasting  fact  sweeps  all 
else  from  my  memory." 

"Strike  a  wife!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Weakly,  excited 
into  strong  womanly  indignation.  "My  blood 
seethes  at  the  mention  of  such  an  outrage !  You 
did  well  to  leave  on  the  instant^" 

"He  did  not  strike  me."  No;  Mrs. Eldridge  said 
not  these  words,  although  they  sprung  to  her  lips 
and  truth  pleaded  for  their  utterance. 

"Strike  a  wife!"  repeated  the  frienl.  "Such  » 
thing  has  not  before  been  known  in  Arden  !" 

"Where  is  your  husband?"  inquired  Mrs.  El 
dridge. 

"lie  hasn't  come  down  yet  this  morning." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  meet  him,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridgo. 

"No  necessity  for  that.  Come  up  with  me  to 
onr  little  spare  room,  and  you  shall  be  cloistered 
like  a  nun." 


FALSE  FRIENDS.  171 

The  two  women  went  hastily  and  silently  up  to 
the  spare  chamber,  which  was  in  the  story  above 
where  Mr.  Weakly  slept. 

"How  you  tremble!  Compose  yourself,"  said 
Mrs,  Weakly,  as  they  entered  the  room.  "  Hadn't 
you  better  lie  down  ?" 

Mrs.  Eldridge  threw  herself  with  an  abandoned 
air  upon  the  bed,  giving  way  to  a  flood  of  tears  as 
she  did  so. 

"  My  poor,  unhappy  friend !  To  think  that  this 
dreadful  ordeal  was  in  store  for  you !  I  never  could 
have  believed  it  of  Eldridge, — the  brute  !  To  strike 
a  wife  ! — the  climax  of  all  outrages.  Do  you  know 
that  was  the  reason  why  Mrs.  Glend}^  separated  from 
her  husband  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  it  before." 

"It  is  true.  I  once  had  the  whole  story  from  her 
own  lips.  She  is  not  much  given  to  the  melting 
mood ;  but,  I  can  tell  you,  she  cried  like  a  child 
when  she  related  the  circumstance.  She  loved  her 
husband ;  but  the  outrage  was  one  that  her  pride 
never  would  forgive.  She  loved  him  to  the  last  hour 
of  his  life,  but  never  saw  him  from  the  day  he  lifted  his 
hand  against  her,  and  never  forgave  him.  She  is  a 
woman  of  true  spirit.  We  must  advise  with  her." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  must  see  her,  and  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.  My  own  thoughts  are  too  much  in  confusion. 
I  cannot  see  clearly.  I  am  in  the  centre  of  a  be 
wildering  maze." 

"How  is  poor  little  Katy?"  asked  Mrs.  Weakly, 
her  thoughts  naturally  reverting  to  the  child. 


172  WHAT  CAN   WOMAN   DO  ? 

"  Don't  speak  of  her !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eldridge. 
putting  up  both  hands  and  averting  her  face.  "  I 
cannot  bear  it !" 

It  did  occur  to  Mrs.  Weakly  that  perhaps,  under 
the  circumstances,  something  was  due  from  Mrs 
Eldridge  to  her  hopelessly-injured  little  one,  and 
that  for  her  sake  a  great  deal  ought  to  have  been 
endured.  She  could  not  really  understand  how  it 
was  possible  for  a  mother  to  abandon  her  child  to 
stranger-hands  only  a  few  hours  after  having  been 
hurt  in  so  dreadful  a  manner.  But  the  subject  ap 
peared  to  distress  her  friend  so  deeply  that  she 
asked  no  further  questions,  and  tried  to  push  aside 
from  her  own  mind  a  view  of  the  case  that  rather 
tended  to  subdue  the  enthusiasm  at  first  awakened 
in  behalf  of  the  outraged  wife.  Her  own  heart  told 
her  that  a  mother's  love,  in  this  case,  should  have 
been  stronger  than  a  wife's  indignation. 

At  breakfast  Mr.  Weakly  said  to  his  wife, — 

"Who  was  the  person  I  heard  you  talking  with 
BO  earnestly  this  morning?  The  voice  sounded  like 
that  of  Eldridge's  wife.  She's  an  early  visitor." 

"  Eldridge's  wife !"  Mrs.  Weakly  tossed  her  head 
and  laughed  lightly.  "You  must  have  beei\ asleep 
and  dreaming,  instead  of  awake  and  listening,  aa 
you  imagined.  Eldridge's  wife  !  Poor  thing!"  (tl  e 
voice  fell  into  a  more  sober  tone,)  ''she  has  some 
thing  else  to  do.  with  her  broken-backed  child,  be 
sides  gadding  about  before  breakfast  in  the  morn 
ing." 

"So  I  should  imagine,"  said  Mr.  Weakly.    "Poor 


FALSE   FRIENDS.  17  B 

fittle  thing !  I  wonder  how  she  passed  the  night. 
It  was  a  dreadful  accident.  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  it." 

"Dreadful  indeed.  Poor  child !"  said  Mrs. Weakly, 
in  a  tone  of  womanly  sympathy,  "what  a  life  she  has 
before  her  !  If  she  were  my  child  I  could  vyish  her 
dead  rather  than  so  hopelessly  crippled  and  de 
formed!" 

After  breakfast  Mr.  "Weakly  went  out,  as  usual,  to 
his  business,  and  Mrs.  Weakly  hurried  up  to  her 
friend  with  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  light  articles  of 
food.  The  tea  only  was  taken ;  and  then  the  ques 
tion — ""What  is  to  be  done?" — was  earnestly  de 
bated. 

Without  the  more  experienced  advice  of  Mrs. 
Glendy  it  was  found  impossible  to  reach  any  satis 
factory  conclusion.  The  day  was  now  too  far  ad 
vanced  for  Mrs.  Eldridge  to  go  abroad,  as  she  would 
be  seen ;  and  she  wished,  for  the  present,  to  remain 
concealed.  So  her  friend  put  on  her  bonnet  and 
ran  over  to  see  the  wise  counsellor  who  was  to 
guide  the  bark  of  their  mutual  friend  safely  over 
1he  dangerous  reefs  upon  which  it  had  been  sud 
denly  cast.  Her  call  was  an  unusually  early  one, 
and  Mrs.  Weakly  had  to  wait  a  long  time  before 
Mrs.  Glendy  made  her  appearance.  At  last  she 
came  into  the  parlor  with  an  impressive  air,  kissed 
her  visitor  warmly,  and  said,  as  she  grasped  her 
hand, — 

"  Good-morning,  my  dear  Mrs.  Weakly.  You 
have  given  me  an  early  and  pleasant  surprise. 

16* 


174  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

But  you  look  serious,  my  friend.  Ah  !  no  wonder 
That  dreadful  scene  we  witnessed  last  night  wai 
enough  to  make  any  one  feel  serious.  Poor  Mrs. 
Eldridge  !  I  pity  her  from  my  heart." 

"And  you  may  well  pity  her,"  said  Mrs.  Weakly; 
"for  she  has  a  worse  trouble  than  that." 

"  Worse  !     How  ?     You  startle  me  !" 

"A  great  deal  worse: — a  trouble  past  mending,' 
Baicl  Mrs.  Weakly,  in  a  solemn  manner. 

"  Speak !     What  is  it  ?     I  have  a  heart  to  feel." 

"She  had  some  angry  words  with  her  husband 
this  morning,  and  he " 

Mrs.  Weakly  paused. 

"What?"     Mrs.  Glendy  bent  forward  eagerly. 

"Struck  her!" 

Mrs.  Glend}T,  who  had  taken  a  seat  beside  her 
friend,  started  up,  with  clenched  hand  and  burning 
cheeks,  exclaiming, — 

"  Man's  unpardonable  sin  against  woman !  Struck 
her,  did  you  say?"  And  Mrs.  Glendy  leaned  her 
face  close  to  that  of  her  friend. 

"Yes;  struck  her,"  said  Mrs. Weakly,  speaking 
low  in  her  throat ; — "  struck  her !" 

"And  she  left  his  house  on  the  instant?" 

"She  did." 

"Right!  She  would  have  been  unworthy  the 
name  of  woman  had  she  remained  an  hour  after  the 
commission  of  such  an  outrage !  Where  is  she?" 

"  At  my  house ;  and  she  desires  to  see  you  as  soon 
ae  possible." 

"I  wi.l  be  there  right  early.     Say  to  her  that  I 


FALSE   FRIENDS.  175 

deeply  sj  mpathize  with  her,  approve  her  course,  and 
bog  of  her  to  be  calm,  womanly,  and  resolute." 

"How  soon  may  we  expect  you?"  asked  Mrs. 
Weakly. 

"  In  less  than  half  an  hour." 

""What  if  Mr.  Eldridge,  learning  that  his  wife  \* 
at  my  house,  should  call  there  and  demand  an  inter- 
liew?" 

"Let  it  be  imperatively  refused.  He  has  lifted 
his  hand  against  her,  and  that  act  should  work  an 
eternal  separation  between  a  man  and  his  wife, 
driving  them  as  far  asunder  as  the  antipodes. 
Henceforth  let  them  be  nothing  to  each  other." 

"  So  say  I.  If  "Weakly  were  to — but  that  is  im 
possible,"  added  Mrs.  Weakly;  "it  isn't  in  him; 
and,  if  it  were,  his  knowledge  of  my  spirit  would 
forever  keep  his  passions  under  control." 

Mrs.  Weakly  was  within  a  short  distance  of  her 
house,  on  her  return  from  Mrs.  Glendy's,  when  she 
saw  Mr.  Eldridge  coming  hurriedly  down  the 
street.  They  met  at  her  door.  He  looked  pale 
and  excited. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  wife  this  morning  ?"  he  asked, 
almost  roughly. 

"Your  wife?"  There  was  evasion  in  the  voice 
and  manner  of  Mrs.  Weakly. 

"Yes;  my  wife.     Have  you  seen  her?" 

"No,  sir,"  firmly  answered  Mrs.  Weakly.     "She 
is  no  l9iiger  his  wife:  that  blow  severed  the  bond,' 
•he  said  to  herself,  in  palliation  of  the  falsehood. 

Eldridge  gazed  into  the  face  of  Mrs.  Weakly  for 


170  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

a  few  moments.  She  returned  his  look  wiln  an  un 
flinching  steadiness,  and  then  said,  in  a  tone  of  well- 
feigned  interest, — 

"•  Poor  little  Katy !  How  did  she  pass  the  night* 
and  how  is  she  this  morning?" 

"  She  is  doing  as  well  as  could  be  expected,  all 
things  considered,"  replied  Mr.  Eldridge.  After  a 
moment  he  added,  "You  are  certain  that  you  have 
not  seen  Mrs.  Eldridge  ?" 

"I  have  already  answered  that  question,  sir," 
replied  Mrs.  Weakly,  in  an  offended  manner.  "  But 
why  do  you  ask?"  A  woman's  curiosity  prompted 
this  query. 

"  She  left  home  more  than  an  hour  ago,  and  I 
cannot  imagine  where  she  has  gone." 

"  Why  did  she  leave  ?"  was  inquired. 

"Heaven  knows  !     I  don't." 

"Some  good  reason,  no  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Weakly. 

"  Some  good  reason  for  a  woman,  it  may  be." 
Mr.  Eldridge  curled  his  lip  as  he  spoke,  adding, 
"  Your  woman's  reasons  are  generally  whims  and 
impulses,  as  far  as  I  can  see.  They  will,  but  neve- 
think." 

"  But  they  know  how  to  will  with  a  will,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Weakly,  in  a  sharp  voice,  "  as  some  men  know 
to  their  cost,  and  as  you  may  perhaps  discover,  to 
your  sorrow,  before  you  die." 

"  I've  found  that  out  already,"  said  Eldridge, 
"  But  that  doesn't  signify  now.  I  don't  wish  to  ex 
change  sharp  words  with  any  one,  but  to  find  my 
wife.  Should  you  see  her,  oblige  me  bv  saving  to 


FALSE    FRIEN7D3.  177 

her  that  lier  sick  and  crippled  child  needs  her  atten 
tion  and  must  have  it." 

"  Mast  is  no  word  for  a  man  to  utter  when  speak 
ing  of  his  wife,"  said  Mrs.  Weakly. 

A  slight  sound  at  the  moment  reached  the  cars  of 
Air.  Kldridge,  and,  glancing  upward  by  a  kind  of 
instinct,  he  saw  the  face  of  his  wife  looking  down 
upon  him  from  between  the  partly-closed  shutters 
above.  For  only  a  moment  he  saw  it ;  in  the  next 
it  was  hidden  from  his  sight. 

"  Ila !"  he  ejaculated.     "  So  she  is  here  ?" 

"  Who  is  here  ?"  boldly  asked  Mrs.  Weakly. 

"  My  wife,  as  I  supposed.  Will  you  bear  to  her  a 
message  from  her  husband?" 

"  Your  wife  is  not  here."  Mrs.  Weakly  laid  a 
particular  emphasis  on  the  word  "wife." 

"  I  feared  that  she  was  in  the  hands  of  bad  ad 
visers,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  sternly  ;  "  it  is  clear  now. 
A  thoughtless,  wrong-minded  woman  has  power  to 
do  a  vast  amount  of  harm  in  this  world." 

"  Rail  on,  sir !  Contempt  for  woman  is  by  moat 
of  your  sex  considered  a  manly  virtue." 

Mr.  Eldridge  waved  his   hand  impatiently,  aay- 

»>£>— 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  to  bandy  words.     Do  me  only 

a  single  favor.     Bear  this  message  to  my  wife." 

Curiosity  as  to  the  message  was  stronger  than  the 
•uddenly-forrned  purpose  of  Mrs.  Weakly  to  deny 
(he  existence  of  a  true  marital  relation. 

'•Say  on,  sir.     I  am  all  attention,"  she  replied. 
"  Tell  her  from  me  that,  for  the  sake  of  her  suttor- 


178  WHAT.    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

ing  child,  I  wish  her  to  return  home  at  once."  Mr 
EUlridge  spoke  very  much  like  a  man  in  earnest; 
and  so  he  was.  "  Say  to  her  that  all  of  this  day  the 
.loors  of  my  house  remain  open  ;  but  that  after  the 
sun  goes  down  they  will  be  closed  against  her,  and 
'orever !" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  understand !"  And  the  little  woman 
curled  her  lip  and  tossed  her  head. 

"All  I  desire,  madam,  is  that  you  will  repeat  my 
words.  May  I  depend  on  you  ?"  said  Eld  ridge. 

"Oh,  certainly,  sir.  I  will  give  them  to  the  let 
ter,"  returned  Mrs.  "Weakly,  in  a  defiant  manner. 

"  Good-morning !"  And  before  the  lady  had  time 
for  a  word  in  reply  Mr.  Eldridge  was  striding  away 
in  the  direction  of  his  home. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DRIVEN    TO    DESPERATION. 

MR.  ELDRIDGE,  shocked,  outraged,  and  discouraged 
by  the  conduct  of  his  wife  toward  Katy,  did  not 
.eave  the  bedside  again  until  breakfast  was  an 
nounced.  For  a  portion  of  the  time  he  had  re 
mained  with  his  head  bowed  down  and  his  fa<;( 
buried  in  a  pillow,  the  hand  of  his  child  clusped 
tightly  within  his  own.  The  night  had  been  sleep 
less,  and  nature  was  overwearied.  Complete  bodily 
repose  gave  power  to  slumber,  and  for  a  few  mo- 


DRIVEN   TO   DESPERATION.  179 

ments  external  consciousness  faded,  and  he  dreamed 
ill  at  lie  saw  his  wife  fleeing  from  the  house.  So 
vivid  was  this  dream  that,  when  he  started  up  at  the 
sound  of  the  breakfast-bell,  he  could  not  for  a  few 
moments  pass  it  aside  as  an  airy  vision. 

"Where  is  your  mother?"  he  inquired  of  the  two 
older  children  on  entering  the  breakfast-room. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer  of  both. 

Mr.  Eldridge  turned  away  and  went  hastily  up 
stairs,  passing  from  room  to  room,  but  in  none  of 
them  finding  the  object  of  his  search. 

"Harriet!"  he  called,  in  a  suppressed  voice. 

"  Harriet !"    The  tones  were  loader. 

"Harriet !"     Only  echo  returned  the  ward. 

Mr.  Eldridge  sat  down  to  think,  and,  if  possible, 
to  force  his  thoughts  into  order  and  coherence. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked  of  himself. 
"Where  has  she  gone?  Why  has  she  left  the 
house?" 

The  truth  was  suggested,  but  he  flung  the  sug 
gestion  aside  as  improbable. 

"  No !  no  !  She  is  not  insane  enough  for  that, 
violent  and  wrong-headed  as  she  has  sometimes 
ehowu  herself." 

But  the  suggestion,  once  made,  could  not  be  kept 
out  of  his  mind.  He  remembered  with  what  angry 
violence  he  had  laid  his  hand  upon  her,  and  how 
fearfully  excited  she  had  become.  Her  last  pas 
sionate  threats  and  imprecations  sounded  in  his  ears 
as  if  just  flung  ujon  the  air,  and  he  perceived  in 
them  a  meaning  not  realized  before. 


130  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"Gracious  heavens!"  he  exclaimed,  aloud,  as  the 
possibility  of  her  having  taken  a  step  destined  to 
prove  so  disastrous  to  all  their  future  grew  distinct 
ii.  Ids  thoughts.  "  It  cannot  be  !" 

For  a  time  Mr.  Eldridge  fe.lt  like  a  man  stunned 
by  a  heavy  blow.  There  was  a  pressure  on  heart 
and  brain.  Then  all  the  suffering,  disgrace,  desola 
tion,  disruptions,  and  bitter  experiences,  in  store  for 
himself  and  children,  were  vividly  seen ;  and  he 
groaned  aloud,  as  he  looked  in  imagination  upon 
the  sad  realities  to  come. 

"Impossible!"  he  could  not  help  saying.  "Har 
riet  is  passionate,  selfish,  and  self-willed,  but  not 
mad  enough  to  drag  down  upon  herself,  her  hus 
band,  and  her  children,  such  utter  ruin  as  this !" 

But  time  glided  on,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  did  not 
make  her  appearance.  From  the  domestic  her  hus 
band  learned  that  she  had  left  the  house  a  little 
while  after  their  angry  passage  of  words.  This 
strengthened  his  worst  fears. 

Faint  from  loss  of  rest  and  violent  mental  excite 
ment,  Mr.  Eldridge,  who  had  taken  no  food  since 
the  day  before,  felt  that  he  must  have  something  t< 
keep  him  from  sinking.  There  was  brandy  in  tlit 
house ;  he  thought  of  it,  and  acted  at  once  upon  the 
thought.  The  draught  taken  was  large  for  him 
and  it  brought  mind  and  body  up  to  a  firmer  tone, 
though  reason  was  left  obscured.  It  was  after  this 
stimulus  was  received,  and  while  partially  under  its 
influence,  that  he  set  forth  in  search  of  his  wife,  and 
left  for  her,  with  Mrs.  "Weakly,  his  indignant  ulti- 


DRIVEN  TO  DESPERATION,  181 

matum.  The  fact  of  her  desertion  of  home  at  this 
particular  time,  when  their  youngest  child  needed  a 
mother's  devoted  care  more  than  at  any  period  si-jce 
her  birth,  stood  forth  to  his  mind  in  such  revolting 
deformity  that  he  felt  her  to  he  unworthy  the  name 
of  woman.  His  whole  nature  rose  up  against  her. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  in  this  state  of  mind  when  he 
returned  from  his  hurried  visit  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
"Weakly  in  search  of  his  wife.  Dr.  Penrose  and  his 
kind-hearted  lady  met  him  at  his  own  door,  and 
went  up  with  him  to  the  room  where  Katy  lay. 
The  poor  child  had  received  but  few  of  the  atten 
tions  she  needed.  Her  room  was  in  order, — so 
much  had  been  done  by  the  mother's  hand ;  but 
her  bed  had  not  been  made,  nor  had  she  received 
any  food. 

A  glance  told  Mrs.  Penrose  that  something  was 
wrong.  She  looked  around  the  room,  then  at  the 
bed  and  at  the  child,  with  her  damp,  matted  hair, 
and  face  from  which  water  had  not  removed  the 
traces  of  tears. 

"]'m  afraid  this  shock  has  been  too  much  for 
Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  that  she  is  sick,"  Mrs.  Penrose 
remarked. 

"Worse  than  that!"  Mr.  Eldridge  spoke  in  an 
undertone  and  half  to  himself,  though  his  worda 
reached  the  ears  of  both  the  doctor  and  his  wife 
and  startled  them  by  their  strange  tone  and  vague 
significance.  Neither  of  them  felt  at  liberty  to 
question  further. 
-  "How  is  my  little  girl?"  the  doctor  asked,  in  a 

16 


1  J2  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO  ? 

kind,  encouraging  voice,  as  lie  bent  over  Katy  and 
'aid  his  liand  lightly  on  her  forehead. 

"  Better,"  was  the  simple  response. 

Such  attentions  as  were  needed  from  the  pby- 
eioiaii  were  then  given  Dr.  Penrose  found  her  iu 
rather  a  feverish  condition,  and,  upon  the  whole,  not 
doing  so  well  as  he  had  hoped  to  find  her.  That 
she  had  been  neglected  was  too  apparent. 

Mrs.  Penrose  gave  such  personal  care  to  the  child 
as  her  condition  demanded. 

"She  has  had  no  breakfast,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge, 
aside. 

"Indeed !  that  must  be  seen  to ;"  and  the  doctor's 
wife  passed  quickly  from  the  room  and  went  down 
into  the  kitchen. 

"Katy  has  had  nothing  to  eat  this  morning,"  she 
said  to  the  girl,  whom  she  found  sitting  by  a  table, 
resting  thereon  her  great  red  arms,  and  looking 
both  stupid  and  lazy. 

"  'Deed  and  ye  may  say  thot^ma'am ;  it's  mighty 
little  the  checkens  get  when  the  ould  hen  won't 
scratch  for  'em." 

"  The  poor  child  must  have  some  breakfast.  Wil 
you  make  her  a  piece  of  toast?" 

"  Yis,  ma'am,  or  ony  thing  else  ye'll  tell  me  to  do 
for  her,  though  she  is  the  greatest  little  possessed 
I  ever  did  see  in  my  born  days.  But  they  say  her 
back  is  broken.  Och !  sorra  the  day  for  her !" 

Mrs.  Penrose  did  not  encourage  the  girl  to  talk; 
yet,  for  all  this,  by  the  time  she  had  some  toast  and 
tea  and  a  soft-boiled  egg  ready  for  Katy,  she  under- 


DRIVEN   TO    DESPERATION.  183 

stood  pretty  distinctly  that  there  had  been  a  sharp 
quarrel  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  that  the 
latter  had  gone  oft'  at  an  early  hour  and  had  not  yet 
fi.  turned. 

Soon  after  Airs.  Penrose  left  the  sick-room  Mr 
Eldridge  drew  the  doctor  into  the  next  apartment, 
and,  when  they  were  there  alone,  said  to  him,  in  a 
grave,  sad  way, — 

"Dr.  Penrose,  a  thing  has  just  happened  which  is 
destined  to  bring  disgrace  upon  my  family  and  to 
mar  our  whole  future.  My  wife  has  left  my  house 
in  a  fit  of  passion." 

"No!  no!  surely  not,  Mr.  Eldridge !"  said  the 
doctor,  startled  at  the  announcement. 

"It  is  too  true.  Let  me  relate  to  you  the  circum 
stances  just  as  they  occurred." 

And  Mr.  Eldridge  repeated  what  the  reader  already 
knows  about  the  conduct  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  toward 
Kat}T,  his  own  rough  interference,  and  her  subse 
quent  withdrawal  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Weakly, 
whither  he  had  traced  her. 

"  It  is  only  an  outburst  of  passion,  and  will  soon 
be  over,"  said  the  doctor. 

"It  iinitit  bo  over  very  soon  to  avail  anything,' 
said  Mr.  Eldridge,  resolutely.  "She  has  tried  me 
just  beyond  the  point  of  endurance.  If  she  returns 
before  the  sun  goes  down,  well,  she  may  return! 
But — by  all  that  is  sacred  ! — if  she  is  beyond  my 
threshold  at  that  hour  the  door  is  closed  against  her 
for  over !" 

"  Speak  not  rashly,"  eaid  the  doctor.     "Above  ail. 


OU. 


184  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

do  not  act  rashly  in  so  serious  a  business  LS  uiis. 
Your  \\:fe,  besides  being  blinded  by  passion,  is  in 
the  hands,  I  fear,  of  bad  advisers." 

"  I  never  was  more  in  earnest  in  my  life  than  I 
am  now,"  replied  Mr.  Eldridge,  sternly,  clenching 
both  hands  as  he  spoke.  "  Tried  for  years  as  few 
men  have  been  tried,  my  whole  nature  is  at  last 
etung  into  revolt.  I  am  not  the  man  I  was  yesterday. 
Then  I  would  have  temporized  as  of  old,  yielded, 
and  forgiven.  It  is  not  so  now:  for  good  or  evil  I 
am  changed ;  and  if  that  mad  woman  does  not  return 
to-day  she  shall  never  return  !" 

"Think  of  your  poor,  injured  child,  who  must 
have  the  tender,  patient,  never-ceasing  care  of  a 
mother,"  said  the  doctor. 

"That  she  can  never  have;  for  heaven  has  not 
blessed  her  with  a  true  mother."  The  voice  of  Mr. 
Eldridge  was  softer,  and  trembled  slightly.  "  She 
has  more  to  hope  from  the  heart  of  a  stranger  than 
from  the  heart  of  her  who  bore  her.  In  all  human 
probability  the  change  will  be  in  her  favor." 

"But  such  a  change  must  not  be  talked  of  as 
possible,"  said  Dr.  Penrose. 

"I  fear  it  is  very  possible.  You  do  not  know 
Harriet  Eldridge  as  I  know  her." 

"The  kind  offices  of  neighbors  you  will  uot 
reject?"  said  Dr.  Penrose. 

"I  can  pledge  myself  to  nothing,  doctor.  Mrs. 
Eldridge  has  my  ultimatum.  It  is  w  ith  her  to  accept 
or  reject.  If  she  returns  home  and  acts  as  a  wife 
mother  should  act,  all  may  be  well.  Bnt  if  +he 


DRIVEN    TO    DESPERATION.  185 

sun  goes  down  this  day,  and  she  remain  absent  after 
that  hour,  her  fate  is  sealed.  I  will  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  her." 

"  Madness  !  Folly  !  What  has  come  over  you, 
my  good  friend?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Simply  this : — I  am  at  last  driven  to  the  wall,  and 
nave  turned  upon  my  pursuer!" 

"  Doctor."  It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Penrose,  call 
ing  from  Katy's  room.  So  the  hurried  interview 
ended.  Mr.  Eldridge  descended  to  his  office  and  left 
the  doctor  and  his  wife  alone.  In  about  ten  minutes 
Ihe  former  came  down-stairs. 

"  Katy  must  have  a  careful  attendant,"  said  he,  on 
meeting  Mr.  Eldridge.  "It  will  not  do  for  her  to  be 
left  alone." 

"I  know  that,  doctor;  but  where  shall  I  find  the 
right  person?" 

"  There  will  be  no  difficulty,  I  presume,  in  pro 
curing  a  nurse.  As  I  go  down  the  street  I  will  call 
in  and  see  Mrs.  Lamb.  She  is  a  kind  soul,  and  will 
come,  no  doubt,  for  a  few  days.  Mrs.  Penrose  will 
remain  with  Katy  until  she  arrives." 

The  doctor  passed  on  without  further  remark, 
caving  the  unhappy  man  alone  with  his  maddening 
thou  ghts. 


186  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 


CHAPTER 

THE   CONSUMMATION. 

A 5  the  day  wore  on,  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
Mr.  Eldridge  experienced  a  hundred  fluctuations, 
though  never  once  did  he  recede  from  his  stern  pur 
pose  in  regard  to  his  wife.  There  were  times  when 
he  hoped  that  she  would  repent  of  her  rashness  and 
return  home  ere  the  sun  went  down,  and  times  when 
he  desired  the  present  separation  to  be  eternal.  lie 
saw  little  to  hope  for  in  any  temporary  healing  of  the 
rupture.  Hostile  feelings  would  remain,  and  hostile 
acts  be  resumed,  sooner  or  later.  Of  all  this  strife, 
ungentleness,  disorder,  and  bickering,  he  was  heart- 
weary.  Already  imagination  had  sketched  for  him 
a  different  and  more  attractive  home  than  the  one 
over  which  his  wife  had  ruled  for  years.  The  new 
born  love  of  Katy  created  a  strange,  vague,  fluttering 
hope  in  his  over-tried  heart.  He  still  felt  for  her 
that  yearning  love  which  had  sprung  into  existence 
only  a  few  hours  before  and  which  gained  fresh 
vigor  every  moment.  He  went  out  but  once  during 
the  day,  and  that  only  for  a  little  while.  Most  of  the 
time  he  was  walking  the  floor  of  his  office,  wander 
ing  restlessly  about  the  house,  or  sitting  beside  Kuty, 
holding  one  of  her  hands  and  looking  down  lovingly 


THE   CONSUMMATION.  187 

upon  her  young  face,  that  had  all  at  once  grown  sin 
gularly  gentle  in  its  expression. 

Meantime  Dr.  Penrose  and  his  excellent  wife  were 
doing  all  in  their  power  to  effect  a  reconciliation, 
or,  rather,  to  induce  Mi's.  Eldridge  to  return  home. 
Most  of  the  day  Mrs.  Penrose  passed  in  the  company 
of  Mrs.  Eldridge  and  her  two  wrong  advisers.  Mrs. 
Weakly  she  succeeded  in  partially  gaining  over  to 
her  side;  but  Mrs.  Glendy  never  yielded  her  view 
of  the  case  for  an  instant,  declaring  that,  if  Mrs. 
Eldridge  let  her  foot  cross  the  threshold  of  her  hus 
band's  door  while  he  maintained  his  present  threat 
ening  attitude,  she  would  disgrace  her  sex. 

The  only  concession  which  Mrs.  Penrose  could 
gain  from  the  indignant  trio  was  this: — If  Mr.  El 
dridge  would  withdraw  his  tyrannical  ultimatum  and 
leave  his  wife  free  to  return  at  any  time  she  pleased, 
she  might  come  home  in  a  day  or  two ;  perhaps 
some  time  during  that  very  evening. 

Hopeless  of  inducing  Mrs.  Eldridge  to  recede  from 
this  position,  Mrs.  Penrose,  accompanied  by  her 
husband,  went  around  to  see  Mr.  Eldridgo  late  in 
the  afternoon.  They  found  him  unchanged  in  hia 
purpose. 

"It  lacks,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  an  earnest  en 
treaty  to  meet  with  some  concession  the  stubborn 
pride  of  his  wrongly-counselled  wife,  "but  one  hour 
to  sunset.  If  she  return  before  that  time,  well.  If 
absent,  the  door  is  closed  against  her  forever!  I 
have  said  it  once  and  again ;  and,  by  all  that  is  evil 
and  good,  I  will  keep  my  word !  She  says  that  I 


188  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

struck  her.  The  charge  is  as  false  as  her  own  heart! 
That  is  the  crowning  outrage.  No,  no,  kind  friends! 
F  am  deeply  grateful  for  the  interest  you  have  taken, 
and  shall  never  forget  it  while  life  lasts." 

"But  think  of  your  children,"  urged  Mrs.  Pen- 
rose,  feebly,  for  little  hope  of  making  any  impression 
remained. 

"If  I  have  wavered  at  all  in  my  purpose,"  waa 
firmly  answered,  "the  thought  of  my  children  has 
inspired  me  with  new  resolution.  She  has  been  no 
true  mother,  and  it  is  best  for  them  to  be  at  once 
and  forever  removed  from  her  influence." 

The  sun  went  down,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  still 
absent  from  the  home  of  her  husband.  He  had 
waited,  in  feverish  restlessness,  up  to  the  fatal  mo« 
ment.  It  came,  and  passed. 

"God  help  us  all!" 

The  words  fell  impulsively  from  the  lips  of  Mr. 
Eldridge,  as,  with  a  desperate  effort  to  give  force  to 
his  purpose,  he  shut  the  door  of  his  house  and  locked 
it  with  a  resolute  hand. 

"  God  help  us  all !"  he  repeated,  as  he  walked  back 
along  the  passage.  He  had  only  gone  a  few  paces, 
when  the  bell  rung  violently. 

"Too  late!"  he  muttered,  between  his  teeth 
"  Too  late  !  The  sun  has  gone  down,  and  the  door 
is  shut.  Too  late  !  Too  late  !  God  help  us  all !" 

His  manner  was  that  of  a  person  half  insane. 

The  bell  rung  once  more.  The  servant  came  to 
answer  it,  but  Mr.  Eldridge  waved  her  back. 

no!"     And  he  shook  his  clenched  hand  Uv 


THE   CONSUMMATION.  189 

ward  the  door.  "The  sun  is  down,  and  it  is  shut! 
I  said  that  it  would  be  so !  Go  your  own  way !  The 
w  >rld  is  wide  enough  for  both  you  and  me.  Hence 
forth  our  paths  diverge." 

Mr.  Eldridge  stood  still.  The  beating  of  his  heart 
was  audible  in  his  own  ears.  All  was  silent  as 
death. 

"  She  was  but  a  moment  too  late,"  was  whispered 
in  his  thoughts.  "Not  a  moment,  it  may  be.  She 
has  come  at  the  time,  and  you  must  keep  your 
word." 

The  heart  of  Mr.  Eldridge  began  to  yield  ;  he 
mo\7ed  a  pace  or  two  in  the  direction  of  the  door, 
and  then  paused.  Again  the  bell  was  rung,  but 
more  feebly.  The  diminished  hope  indicated  by  this 
less-confident  summons  had  the  right  effect,  ai?d 
something  of  pity  for  his  repentant  wife  was  stirred 
in  his  bosom. 

"It  is  well,  perhaps,"  he  murmured,  as  he  kept  on 
toward  the  door.  His  hand  was  on  the  key;  and,  as 
he  turned  the  bolts  of  the  lock,  the  bell-wire  rattled 
again,  and  the  low  sound  of  the  distant  ringing  bell 
came  faintly  to  his  ears. 

"  The  agony  is  over!"  It  was  his  mental  ejacula 
tion  as  he  slowly  opened  the  door, — all  the  powers 
of  his  mind  in  exercise  to  repress  the  strong  agita 
tion  that  was  nearly  overmastering  him. 

"Has  she  returned  ?"  A  voice,  trembling  between 
hope  and  fear,  asked  the  question. 

Mr.  Eldridge  leaned  against  the  door  to  support 
himself. 


190  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

"  Yes !  yes !  I  am  sure  she  has  come  back !"  i*  /. 
P<!iirose  spoke  eagerly. 

"She  is  not  here?"  Mr.  Eldridge  shook  hit  hew 
ll  )wly,  and  there  was  deep  sadness  in  his  voiy. 

Mrs.  Penrose  seemed  stunned.  A  moment  01 
two  she  stood  with  pale  cheeks  and  eyes  cast  upon 
(he  ground.  Then,  uttering  fervently,  yet  in  a  de 
spairing  voice, — 

"  God  help  you  all !"  she  turned  away  and  went 
hurriedly  homeward. 

"Amen!"  came  from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Eldridge  as 
he  shut  the  door.  "Amen !  God  help  us  all !" 


CHAPTER  XXTT. 

A  TRUE  WOMAN'S  INFLUENCE. 

A  DEATH  in  the  house  could  not  have  wrought  a 
deeper  change  in  the  inmates  than  did  this  unhappy 
event.  The  feeling  of  each  member  toward  the 
absent  mother  was  such  as  we  feel  toward  the  "de 
parted."  There  was  a  strange  stillness  about  the 
dwelling.  William  and  Jacob,  who  had  a  few  times 
asked  where  their  mother  was  and  when  she  would 
return,  ceased  their  inquiries,  for  the  answers  were 
grave  and  unsatisfactory,  burdening  their  young 
thoughts  with  an  oppressive  mystery.  Their  strife 
ceased ;  their  bearing  was  more  quiet,  and  they 
talked  with  each  other  in  lower  tones.  When  they 


A   TRUE   WOMAN  S   INFLUENCE.  191 

came  into  Katy's  room  it  was  with  noiseless  steps ; 
and  when  they  looked  into  her  face  new  and  gentler 
feelings  moved  over  their  young  hearts.  Tho  dislike 
and  antagonism  with  which  they  had  always  met 
icr  heretofore  were  gone  now,  and  something  of 
vague  wonder  was  in  their  hearts  at  the  change.  It 
was  their  sister  Katy ;  and  yet  not  the  same  Katy. 
They  could  not  understand  it  all ;  but  they  saw  her 
with  different  eyes,  and  felt  toward  her  as  they  had 
never  felt  before. 

Something  was  due  to  Mrs.  Lamb,  the  nurse  of 
Katy,  for  this  milder  aspect  of  affairs.  She  was  a 
loving,  gentle,  wise,  and  right-hearted  woman,  and 
felt  deep  pity  for  the  abandoned  children.  The 
sphere  of  her  true  quality  was  felt  by  all  who  came 
near  to  her.  No  one  trifled  with  Mrs.  Lamb ;  yet 
she  wore  not  a  grave  countenance.  No  one  felt  like 
indulging  in  ill-humor  or  unkindly  feelings  toward 
others  when  she  was  present;  yet  she  rarely  rebuked 
by  words  the  evil  that  was  manifested  in  her  pre 
sence. 

The  influence  of  such  a  woman,  at  such  a  time, 
could  not  fail  to  be  for  good.  Wisely,  yet  not  from 
thought,  but  in  obedience  to  the  true  instincts  of  her 
character,  did  she  adapt  herself  to  the  state  of  things 
around  her.  Toward  the  two  boys  she  at  once 
manifested  an  interest  which  they  felt  to  be  genuine, 
and  which  drew  them  nearer  to  her  and  gave  her 
power  over  them.  Particular.y  did  she  endeavor,  in 
the  beginning,  to  awaken  in  their  hearts  genuine 
pity  for  their  little  sister.  This  proved  no  difficult 


192  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO  ? 

task ;  for  the  change  in  Katy  had  a  softening  i 
erice  on  all  who  came  near  her. 

In  a  few  days  order  reigned  where  every  thing 
had  been  disorder.  Yet  had  there  hee.i  >io  repres 
sion  of  evils  with  a  strong  hand,  no  formal  external 
dispositions,  no  assumption  of  rule. 

Mr.  Eldridge  came  in  and  went  out,  a  silent  and, 
for  most  of  the  time,  an  apparently  absent-minded 
man.  He  took  but  little  notice  of  any  of  the  chil 
dren,  except  Katy;  and  to  her  he  spoke  but  few 
words ;  but  the  tone  in  which  these  words  were 
uttered  was  very  tender.  And,  whenever  he  carne 
into  the  chamber  where  she  lay,  something  held 
him  there  so  strongly  that  often  he  had  to  force 
himself  from  the  child's  presence. 

The  injury  which  Katy  had  sustained  proved  quite 
as  bad  as  the  doctor's  worst  apprehensions.  There 
was  a  permanent  displacement  of  one  of  the  verte 
brae,  and  the  little  girl  was  hopelessly  deformed. 

Days  and  weeks  came  and  went,  but  the  mother 
did  not  return  nor  make  the  smallest  movement  to 
ward  a  reconciliation.  Mrs.  Lamb,  who  had  con 
sented  to  take  charge  of  Katy  as  a  temporary  ar 
rangement,  found  herself  becoming  so  necessary  to 
the  comfort  and  integrity  of  Mr.  Eldridge's  family 
that  the  prospect  of  separation  therefrom,  except 
by  something  like  a  violent  breaking  away  and  an 
abaiMlonnient  of  duties  that  it  seemed  imperative 
on  ?ier  to  discharge,  looked  every  day  more  an/ 
more  remote,  lii  Katy's  heart  another  new  love 
had  been  born, — the  earnest,  confiding,  deep  love  of 


A  TRUE  WOMAN'S  INFLUENCE.  198 

v-Vt  child  for  a  mother.  Until  now  she  had  nevev 
kuc  vu  the  gentle,  untiring,  self-devoted,  tender  care 
with  which  some  children  are  blessed  from  the  honi 
const iousness  dawns  on  their  young  minds.  It  wa* 
a  new,  joyful  experience  for  her,  and  bound  her  to 
Mrs.  Lamb  with  an  affection  that  gained  new 
strength  with  every  hour.  William  and  Jacob 
found  in  her  a  friend  whose  ears  were  always  open 
to  them  and  whose  hands  were  always  ready  to  sup 
ply  their  wants;  a  wise  counsellor  and  gentle  har- 
monizer  when  strife  arose  between  them ;  a  teacher 
and  leadei  to  good  at  all  times.  Gradually  they 
came  to  confide  in  her,  and  soon  to  love  her,  with 
childlike  tenderness. 

This  great  change  in  his  household  Mr.  Eldridge 
felt,  and,  as  far  as  his  unhappy  condition  of  mind 
would  permit,  enjoyed.  But  he  was  changed  in 
passing  through  the  recent  violent  strife,  and  not 
altogether  for  the  better.  The  conduct  of  his  wife 
he  felt  as  a  disgrace  to  himself  and  family.  She  had 
distinctly  charged  that  he  had  lifted  his  hand  against 
her, — a  falsehood  that  he  knew  half  of  the  people 
in  Arden  believed.  To  strike  a  woman  he  had 
Always  held  to  be  the  deed  of  a  human  brute.  And, 
now,  to  have  that  last  act  of  progressive  abandon 
ment  of  true  manliness  charged  upon  him  mad 
dened  or  hopelessly  depressed  his  feelings  according 
as  opposite  states  of  mind  found  rule. 

Judge  Gray,  when  he  heard  of  the  domestic 
trouble  of  Mr.  Eldridge,  offered  him,  in  an  earnest, 

17 


194  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO  ? 

friendly  way,  his  sympathy,  and  such  counsel  as  it 
might  be  iu  his  power  to  give,  and  succeeded  in 
drawing  the  unhappy  man  quite  within  the  circle  ot' 
his  dangerous  influence. 

"Come   and   see   me   often,"  was   the  invariable 
njunction  when  they  separated.     "I  wish  you   to 
egard   me   as  your   interested   friend,"  was   often 
said. 

Eldridge  gradually  lost  the  feeling  of  repulsion  ho 
had  experienced  toward  the  judge,  and  took  more 
and  more  pleasure  in  the  nocturnal  associations  and 
employments  into  which  his  more  intimate  acquaint 
ance  naturally  introduced  him.  Craig  he  found  an 
almost  constant  visitor  at  the  house  of  Judge  Gray  ; 
and  the  good  understanding  that  evidently  existed 
between  them  was  a  fact  that  more  than  puzzled 
him.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  judge  knew  the 
real  character  of  the  man  in  whom  he  seemed  to 
confide  and  admitted  to  so  close  an  intimacy? 
Over  and  over  again  did  Mr.  Eldridge  ask  himself 
this  question.  If  this  were  really  so,  then  the  judge 
was  a  false  and  a  dangerous  man  in  the  community 
The  conclusion  was  irresistible. 

It  was  not  long  before  Eldridge  was  tempted  imo 
another  trial  of  skill  with  Craig.  He  was  movfil 
inereto  by  the  hope  of  making  up  losses,  in  pr<.- 
vidiixg  for  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  sacrifice 
n  piece  of  property  that  in  a  few  years  would  havo 
increased  in  value  to  double  the  sum  he  obtained  foi 
it.  Judge  Gray  was  the  purchaser;  and  Craig  made 
no  objection  to  receive  his  note  of  hand,  payable 


A  TRUE  WOMAN'S  INFLUENCE. 

twelve  months  after  date,  in  liquidation  of  the  law 
yer's  debt  of  honor. 

A  few  lio-ht  winnings  stimulated  Eldrid^e  to  re- 

o  o  o 

newed  contests;  and  in  the  end  tie  ;vas  the  loser 
again,  to  a  serious  extent.  It  was  a  rare  thing  now 
for  him  to  remain  at  home  during  the  evening. 
There  was  no  social  life  there  to  attract  him.  Before 
his  wife  went  away,  ungenial  as  she  contrived  to 
make  every  thing,  he  felt  a  certain  obligation  to 
etay  at  home,  even  if  he  spent  the  time  in  reading 
or  remained  in  his  office.  He  was  domestic  in  hia 
feelings  and  home-loving;  and,  while  the  wife-centre 
was  there,  he  yielded  to  the  attraction,  feeble  as  it 
was.  Toward  Katy  his  love  continued  to  grow  daily 
into  a  deeper  feeling  than  usually  exists  between  a 
father  and  his  child.  He  always  went  to  her  room 
first,  on  coming  home,  and  rarely  left  the  house 
without  looking  in  to  say  a  parting  word  or  to  leave 
a  kiss  upon  her  lips.  But  he  had  wants  and  crav 
ings  beyond  what  his  child  could  meet;  and  he 
went  forth,  evening  after  evening,  like  the  dove 
from  the  ark,  seeking  a  resting-place  for  his  heart, 
but  finding  none.  Ah !  if,  like  the  dove,  he  had 
come  back  as  innocent  as  when  he  went  forth ! 

And  so  time  wore  on.  The  only  change  for  the 
better  was  in  the  children,  whom  the  passionate 
mother  had  abandoned,  but  who  had  found  a  wiser, 
truer,  more  loving  friend  than  she.  It  was  wonder 
ful  how  orderly,  how  gentle,  how  apparently  unself 
ish,  they  had  grown;  how  a  mild  word  from  Mrs. 
Lamb  would  lead  them  instantly  into  obedience, 


196  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

Strong  language,  threats,  angry  denunciation,  and 
even  blows,  had  spurred  them  to  rebellion ;  but  now 
a  gentle  reproof  or  mild  admonition,  coming  to  their 
ears  in  tones  of  love,  subdued  them  instantly. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FALSE    FRIENDS    TEIED. 

OF  the  position,  purposes,  and  movements  of  his 
wife  Mr.  Eldridge  remained  entirely  ignorant.  lie 
made  no  inquiries  in  that  direction,  and  no  one  ven 
tured  to  communicate  with  him  on  a  subject  of  so 
much  delicacy. 

For  a  few  days  Mrs.  Eldridge  remained  domiciled 
with  her  very  particular  friend  Mrs.  Weakly,  keep 
ing  her  room  all  the  time.  Then  she  went  to  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Glendy,  on  invitation,  that  she  might 
come  into  closer  communication  with  that  lady  and 
get  the  benefit  of  her  larger  experience  in  life  and 
wiser  counsel.  That  she  was  very  unhappy  need 
not  be  told.  If  she  had  been  left  to  herself,  sho 
would  have  returned  home  ere  the  sun  went  down, 
nrnch  as  pride  revolted  at  the  tyrannical  threat  of 
her  husband.  Under  other  circumstances  she  would 
not  have  regarded  such  a  threat  as  having  in  it  any 
meaning;  but  she  felt  now  that  her  husband's  stern 
words  were  not  idle  utterances ;  and  when  the  day 
closed  in  darkness  her  troubled  heart  was  sadly  cou 


FALSE   FRIENDS   TRIED.  197 

scious  that  a  great  gulf  was  between  her  and  tho 
home  from  which  she  had  gone  forth  in  anger. 

Mrs.  Weakly's  enthusiasm  for  her  friend  did  not 
continue  to  burn  with  the  ardor  felt  in  the  begin 
ning.  The  business  of  separating  a  wife  from  her 
lusband  was  likely  to  involve  more  consequences 
than,  in  her  thoughtlessness,  she  had  at  first  ima 
gined.  In  the  interviews  which  she  had  held  with 
Mrs.  Penrose  during  the  exciting  day  on  which  the 
doctor's  wife  had  used  all  the  influence  she  pos 
sessed  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation,  many  things 
were  said  that  did  not  die  in  the  memory  of  Mrs. 
Weakly,  but  presented  themselves  for  consideration 
in  calmer  moments. 

As  a  visiting  friend  she  had  found  Mrs.  Eldridge 
very  agreeable.  She  could  drop  in  upon  her,  when 
she  was  in  the  mood,  and  gossip  away  for  an  hour 
or  so  to  her  heart's  content, — her  pride  gratified,  the 
while,  in  seeing  that  she  was  winning  over  to  her 
own  way  of  thinking  a  woman  of  some  spirit,  whoso 
domestic  relations  were  clogs  upon  her  freedom, 
and  who  had  a  husband  very  much  inclined,  as 
most  men  are,  to  question  a  wife's  right  to  do  in 
all  things  just  as  she  pleases.  They  could  talk  arid 
laugh  and  sip  a  glass  of  wine  together,  feel  exceed 
ingly  agreeable,  and  vow  in  their  hearts  an  eterua. 
friendship. 

But  things  were  considerably  changed  now.  The 
day  of  these  pleasant  meetings  w#s  over.  The  eyes 
that  danced  in  smiles  were  now  drowned  in  tears; 
the  lips  that  parted  in  merry  laughter  rigid  with 

17* 


198  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

anger,  despondency,  or  grief;  the  cheerful  voice 
veiled  in  sadness  or  made  repulsive  through  selfish 
complainings.  The  light  heart  of  Mrs.  Weakly 
grew  weary  under  such  a  pressure.  It  was  for  her 
altogether  a  new  experience.  Not  very  long  wa^ 
ghe  in  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  been 
something  mistaken  in  Mrs.  Eldridge, — that  she  was 
a  seliish,  tiresome  woman.  From  the  beginning  she 
had  not  been  altogether  satisfied  about  the  abandon 
ment  of  her  injured  child  only  a  few  hours  after  the 
sad  accident  which  had  made  it  a  cripple  for  life, 
even  though  her  friend  acted  in  accordance  with  her 
own  impulsive  advice.  The  more  she  looked  at  this 
fact  the  less  did  she  like  the  aspect  it  presented ; 
and,  as  the  common  sentiment,  whenever  it  came  to 
her  ears,  was  in  agreement  with  her  own  thoughts, 
the-work  of  coldness,  even  to  partial  alienation,  went 
steadily  on. 

What  did  Mrs.  Eldridge  propose  doing  ?  What 
were  her  views  in  regard  to  individual  indepen 
dence  ?  What  her  plans  for  the  future?  These 
were  the  questions  that  soon  began  to  arise  in  the 
mind  of  Mrs.  Weakly;  and  she  did  not  hesitate  tx 
press  them  upon  her  unhappy  friend,  much  to  her 
bewilderment,  if  not  dismay.  Every  hour  Mrs.  El 
dridge  saw  the  sky  growing  darker  over  her  head 
and  the  way  before  her  more  uncertain. 

Mrs.  Glendy's  enthusiasm  in  the  case  did  not  begin 
to  die  out  as  quickly  as  that  of  Mrs.  Weakly.  She 
had  a  strong-minded  woman's  grudge  against  the 
other  sex,  and,  when  a  good  opportunity  to  make 


FALSE  FRIENDS  TRIED.  199 

l-er  power  felt  against  any  man  was  offered,  em. 
braced  it  with  eagerness.  The  rough,  imperative 
manner  in  which  Mr.  Eldridge  interrogated  her  on 
his  recent  visit  to  her  house  in  search  of  his  wife 
Lad  excited  her  indignation,  and  left  her  mind  in  a 
condition  to  believe  almost  any  thing  that  wa8 
charged  against  him  as  a  domestic  tyrant.  She 
was.  therefore,  prepared  to  give  Mrs.  Eldridge  aid 
arid  comfort  in  her  warfare  against  tyranny,  and  to 
make  her  house,  at  least  for  a  time,  a  place  of  refuge 
for  the  oppressed.  So,  in  a  few  days,  Mrs.  Eldrigde 
passed  from  the  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Weakly  to  that  of 
Mrs.  Glendy.  In  parting  from  Mrs.  "Weakly  she  had 
a  humiliating  consciousness  that  the  lady  felt  her 
self  relieved  by  the  change;  and  this  was  true. 

Weeks  glided  by,  every  succeeding  day  throwing 
a  veil  of  deeper  sobriety  over  the  feelings  of  Mrs. 
Eldridge.  Long  ere  this  she  had  believed  that 
overtures  of  reconciliation  would  come  from  her 
husband.  Long  ere  this  she  had  looked  for  and  de 
sired  such  overtures.  But  they  came  not.  Mrs. 
Weakly,  who  moved  about  all  the  while  among  the 
people  of  Arden,  carefully  gathered  up  for  her 
friend  all  the  intelligence  about  her  family  that  waa 
floating  from  lip  to  lip.  The  unvarying  testimony 
was  that  under  the  care  of  the  good  Mrs.  Lama 
wonderful  changes  were  being  wrought  in  the  tem» 
per  and  conduct  of  the  children,  and  that  now  peace 
and  order  reigned  where  once  the  ear  was  forever 
jarred  by  sounds  of  discord.  Katy  was  still  in  bed, 
and  the  worst  that  had  been  feared  for  her  was  ia- 


200  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

evitable.  She  was  doomed  to  be  a  cripple  for  life. 
Hut  every  one  spoke  in  admiration  of  her  patience, 
df  the  unvarying  gentleness  of  her  temper,  and  of 
(he  strong  affection  that  was  growing  up  between 
her  and  her  father. 

Like  sharp  stings  came  all  this  to  the  heart  of  Mrs 
Eldridge ;  for  selfish  pride  felt  it  as  a  rebuke,  and 
the  fact  would,  she  saw,  make  in  the  common  mind 
an  impression  against  her.  Oh,  how  many  times,  in 
her  lonely  and  sleepless  hours,  did  she  wish  herself 
back  in  the  home  she  had  so  madly  deserted  !  But 
the  door  had  been  shut  against  her,  and  she  felt  that 
it  was  shut  forever. 

What  of  the  future?  Ah,  that  question  could  not 
be  set  aside!  But  how  was  it  to  be  answered  ?  What 
resources  had  she  to  fall  back  upon  ?  Where  was 
she  to  go  ?  What  other  home  had  she  in^the  wide, 
wide  world?  Father  and  mother  had  passed,  many 
years  before,  into  the  other  world.  Her  only  sister 
had  stepped  aside  from  the  ways  of  virtue,  and  might, 
for  all  she  knew,  long  since  have  departed  to  her 
account.  An  aunt,  the  sister  of  her  father,  a  widow 
in  humble  life,  resided  in  a  small  village  about  sixty 
miles  from  Arden.  This  aunt  she  had  not  seen  nor 
held  any  communication  with  since  childhood  ;  and 
now  the  thought  of  her,  as  her  mind  groped  about  for 
some  friend  and  place  of  refuge,  brought  no  quicker 
heart-beat.  Aunt  Margaret !  Yes,  that  was  the  old 
lady's  name.  Mrs.  E  id  ridge  had  almost  forgottoi.  it; 
and  the  image  and  character  of  her  relative  were 
quite  as  indistinct  as  her  name.  No  light  dawned 


FALSE  FRIENDS  TRIED.  201 

in  that  direction;   and  the  unhappy  woman,  after 
thinking  a  little  while  about  Aunt  Margaret,  put  the 
J  thought  of  her  aside,  feeling  sadder  than  before. 

Mrs.  Eldridge   had   been   in   the   house  of  Mrs. 
Glendy  only  a  short  time,  when  some  things  occurred 
that  startled  her.     A  good  many  visitors  came  and 
went,  particularly  in  the  evening.     She  saw  none 
of  these ;  for  the  reason  of  her  presence  in  the  house 
was  also  a  reason  why  she  kept  herself  entirely  se 
cluded.     During  the  evening  she  rarely  saw  Mrs. 
Glendy,  who  was   occupied  with   company.      The 
voices  of  men  and  women  were  heard  in  the  hum 
of  conversation  up  to  a  late  hour.     Mrs.  Eldridge 
understood  pretty  clearly  the  meaning  of  this;  for  she 
had  a  very  distinct  remembrance  of  certain  company 
she  had  met  there  arid  of  certain  occupations  that 
engaged  them.     She  had  herself  taken  a  hand  at ' 
cards  and  lost  and  won  several  small  sums  of  money. 
One  day,  not  very  long  after  Mrs.  Eldridge's  re 
moval  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Glendy,  she  was  sitting 
alone  in  a  small  parlor  on  the  second  story,  where 
she  felt  entirely  free  from  all  intrusion,  when  she 
vas  surprised  by  hearing  the  steps  of  a  man  ascend- 
ng  the  stairs.     The  blood  rushed  back  to  her  heart, 
and  she  felt  for  a  moment  or  two  as  if  she  would 
suffocate.     Could  it  be  her  husband?     Along  the 
passage  came  the  footsteps,   slow  but  firm.      The 
door  was  opened;  and  the  man  Craig,  whom  she  had 
met  at  Mrs.  Glendy's  once  or  twice,  came  in!     He 
paused,  after  advancing  a  few  feet  into  the  room, 
saying,— 


202  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN  DO? 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  for  this  intrusion; 
but  I  have  a  word  or  two  to  say  that  you  may  be 
glad  to  hear." 

There  was  a  blending  of  respect  and  familiarity 
in  his  manner.  Mrs.  Eldridge  arose  hastily,  her  face 
flushing  and  her  manner  confused. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Glendy?"  she  asked. 

"In  the  parlor,  with  company.  I  would  not  have 
ventured  upon  this  apparent  rudeness  had  she  not 
been  engaged.  Be  seated,  madam.  I  have  only  a 
word  or  two  to  say." 

And  he  came  a  step  or  two  nearer. 

"I  have  seen  your  husband  and  held  a  long  con 
versation  with  him.  Many  things  that  were  said  I 
cannot  repeat.  But  there  are  some  remarks  that 
were  made,  touching  yourself,  that  I  feel  it  impera 
tive  upon  me  to  communicate, — if  you  will  hear 
them." 

The  color  receded  from  the  face  of  Mrs.  Eldridge; 
and,  for  want  of  strength  to  stand,  she  dropped  back 
into  the  chair  from  which  she  had  arisen. 

"Your  husband  is  very  bitter  against  you." 

Craig,  as  he  made  this  remark,  quietly  seated  him 
self  a  few  feet  from  Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  leaned 
toward  her,  with  his  evil  e}Tes  fixed  upon  her  coun 
tenance.  She  did  not  reply;  for  surprise  kept  her 
silent. 

"I  have  met  Mr.  Eldnage  a  number  of  times  since 
the  late  unhappy  event,  and  he  has  talked  with  me 
freely  as  a  friend.  We  are  on  terms  of  close  iriti- 


FALSE  FRIENDS  TRIED.  203 

ruacy,  and  have  been  for  years.  I  know  his  whole 
heart" 

Craig  paused  to  note  the  effect  of  his  words,  still 
keeping  his  eyes  upon  the  face  of  Mrs.  Eld  ridge. 

"I  cannot  approve  his  action  in  the  present  case,'' 
he  went  on,  "and  I  have  not  hesitated  to  tell  him  so 
freely,  at  the  risk  of  giving  offence." 

The  chair  of  Craig  was  drawn  a  little  nearer,  and 
his  tone  fell  tc  a  lower  key.  Mrs.  Eldridge  sat  im 
movable,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  floor,  but,  it  was 
plain  to  be  seen,  listening  eagerly. 

"  To-day  we  talked  the  matter  over  again,  and  I 
insisted  that  he  should  come  to  you  and  have  all 
differences  at  once  and  forever  reconciled." 

The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  were  lifted  quickly  to 
the  face  of  her  visitor;  but  the  look  she  encountered 
checked  for  an  instant  the  beating  of  her  heart  and 
sent  a  low  shudder  through  her  frame. 

"But,"  added  Craig,  with  affected  indignation, 
"he  remained  as  hard  as  granite  and  as  immovable 
as  the  mountains.  Nothing  but  your  utter  humilia 
tion,  madam,  will  satisfy  him.  You  must  come  to 
him!"  There  was  contempt  in  the  man's  tones. 

One  point  was  gained.  The  tempter  succeeded  in 
arousing  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Eldridge.  The  angry 
blood  came  back  to  her  pale  face,  flushing  it  to  a 
scarlet  hue. 

"But,"  added  Craig,  in  a  lower  voice,  "I  have  felt 
it  but  a  common  duty  to  bear  to  you  even  this  infor 
mation,  hard  as  it  is.  There  are  vital  interests  at 
stake.  This  estrangement  and  separation  must  not 


204  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

continue.  One  of  you  must  yield  first.  As  lie  re 
mains  so  stubborn,  so  haughty,  so  self-determined, 
the  overtures  for  reconciliation  had  better  come  from 
you;  and  I  am  here  now  to  suggest  this  course  of 
action." 

"Never!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eldridge,  passionately. 

Never!  If  he  expects  to  humiliate  Harriet  El- 
dridge,  he  will  find  himself  in  the  end  largely  mis 
taken.  I  thought  he  knew  me  better." 

"So  did  I;  and  I  told  him  so.  But  nothing  less 
than  submission  will  satisfy  his  lordly  nature.  I  am 
out  of  all  patience  with  the  man  !" 

"  He  will  never  be  satisfied  to  the  end  of  his  life," 
replied  Mrs.  Eldridge,  in  a  voice  that  was  hoarse  with 
indignation. 

"While  I  must  admire  your  spirit,"  said  Craig,  in 
an  insinuating  voice,  "I  cannot  but  counsel  a  more 
yielding  temper  on  your  part.  This  separation 
ought  not  to  continue, — must  not  continue.  It  ia 
cursing  both  your  lives.  For  the  sake  of  your  hus 
band " 

"Enough,  sir!  I  thank  you  for  the  good  office 
you  have  undertaken  ;  but  influence  in  this  direction 
is  hopeless,  if  there  is  to  be  no  movement  toward 
concession  on  the  other  side." 

"There  certainly  will  be  none,  madam.  I  know 
you?  husband  and  his  views  too  completely  to  leave 
me  any  room  for  hope." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  resolutely.  "My 
pride  and  endurance  are  quite  equal  to  his,  as  he  will 
find,  it  may  be,  to  his  sorrow.  ' 


FALSE   FRIENDS   TRIED.  205 

-'He  says,"  remarked  Craig,  affecting  to  speak 
with  some  indifference  of  manner,  "that  your  ab 
sence  has  changed  nothing  at  home  for  the  worse:— 
that,  in  fact,  every  thing  goes  on  in  a  pleasanter, 
more  orderly  manner,  and  that  the  children  have 
sn  quired  new  characters  since  you  left.  He  seema 
charmed  with  the  rule  of  that  soft,  gentle,  insinu 
ating  Mrs.  Lamb, — a  woman  I  never  did  like.  She 
has  the  noiseless,  stealthy  tread  of  a  cat!" 

The  desired  effect  was  produced.  The  words  of 
Craig  stung  the  spirit  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  into  tempo 
rary  madness.  All  the  darker  passions  of  her  nature 
were  aroused. 

"Mrs.  Lamb  !"  she  ejaculated,  in  a  tone  of  bitter 
contempt. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Lamb."  The  manner  in  which  Craig 
repeated  the  name  increased  instead  of  allaying  the 
wild  disturbance  of  mind  he  had  aimed  to  create, 
and  in  doing  which  he  had  been  entirely  successful. 

"Was  she  a  frequent  visitor  at  your  house?"  he 
inquired,  in  a  voice  of  covert  meaning. 

"No  !"  was  strongly  answered. 

"Mrs.  Eldridge,"  (Craig's  manner  suddenly  un- 
dejfwent  an  entire  change.  He  spoke  in  a  low,  ee- 
rious  tone  of  voice,  and  leaned  nearer  as  he  spoke;) 
"  I  wish  you  to  regard  me  in  this  matter  as  a  friend. 
My  attachment  for  your  husband  first  interested  me 
in  the  case;  and,  at  the  outset,  hearing  only  his  bide 
of  the  story,  I  must  confess  that  I  thought  you  alto 
gether  to  blame.  From  his  own  showing  I  was  /it 
first  led  to  question  this  conclusion;  and,  the  mo 

18 


206  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

mciit  I  began  to  question,  my  eyes  were  opened.  A 
woman  cannot  bear  every  thing." 

<;2sro,  Mr.  Craig;  not  if  she  have  in  her  the  true 
spirit  of  a  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  indignantly. 

"  So  I  have  said  to  him.  But  he  disgusted  me 
with  his  answer.  'A  wife  must  obey,'  he  answered." 

"Obey!  Give  me  patience!"  The  excited  wo 
man  stamped  upon  the  floor. 

"You  may  well  say,  'Give  me  patience!' '  The 
voice  of  Craig  was  not  meant  to  soothe  the  irritation 
he  had  occasioned.  "As  I  have  just  remarked,  a 
woman  cannot  bear  every  thing,  and  should  not." 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  moments.  Mrs.  El- 
dridge  sat  with  her  eyes  upon  the  floor,  while  Craig 
gazed  on  her  intently. 

"You  will  not  concede  any  thing?"  said  the 
tempter. 

"  Nothing !  He  will  find  in  me  no  variableness 
nor  shadow  of  turning.  I  will  be  iron  toward  him, 
unless  he  bend  first." 

"I  like  your  spirit,  but  fear  the  consequences." 

"I  have  great  endurance,  Mr.  Craig.  You  may 
cut  me  into  pieces;  but  I  will  not  yield  my  pur 
pose." 

"I  see,  then,  no  present  hope  of  a  reconciliation.' 

"I  fear  there  is  none,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"What,  then,  of  the  future?"  Craig  asked  the 
question  in  a  way  that  threw  the  mind  of  Mrs.  El 
dridge  into  entire  confusion.  Alas  !  how  dark  was 
all  the  future!  She  did  not  answer,  but  sat,  aa 
before,  with  her  eyes  cast  down. 


FALSE  FRIENDS  TRIED.  207 

"Have  you  relatives,"  inquired  Craig,  "to  whom 
you  can  go  in  your  present  unhappy  extremity  ?" 

Mrs.  Eldriclge  shook  her  head.  Had  she  looked 
up  suddenly  into  the  face  that  was  bending  nearer, 
he  would  have  seen  a  ray  of  satisfaction  glancing 
over  its  unpleasant  outlines. 

"No  tried  friends?" 

"lNTone." 

A  bright  gleam  shot  over  the  countenance  ot 
Craig. 

"  Mrs.  Glendy  is  a  noble-minded  woman ;  you  will 
find  her  a  true  friend.  I  know  how  deeply  she  feels 
for  your  wrongs." 

"I  am  under  great  obligations  for  her  disinterested 
kindness,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  mournfully. 

"  You  may  trust  her  implicitly." 

Almost  unperceived  by  Mrs.  Eldridge,  Craig  had 
continued  to  draw  the  chair  upon  which  he  was 
seated  nearer  and  nearer,  and  now,  as  he  uttered 
the  last  sentence,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 
The  touch  sent  a  thrill  of  repulsion  through  her 
whole  being,  and  she  sprung  to  her  feet  with  a  sud 
den  impulse,  stepping  back  a  pace  or  two,  and  ex- 
laiming, — 

"Leave  me,  sir,  this  instant!" 

"Mrs.  Eldridge  !"  Craig  also  started  to  his  feet; 
for  the  sudden,  indignant  movement  of  Mrs.  El 
dridge  had  surprised  him  almost  as  much  as  hia  act 
of  familiarity  had  surprised  the  lady. 

"Leave  me,  sir!"  The  words  were  repeated  in  a 
stem  voice. 


208  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"But,  my  dear  madam " 

Mrs.  Eldridge  waved  her  hand  imperatively. 

"If  you  do  not  leave  the  room  instantly  I  will 
cal.  down  to  Mrs.  Glendy." 

But  Craig,  who  was  recovering  from  his  first  sur 
prise,  showed  no  disposition  to  obey.  He  only  re 
ceded  some  distance  from  the  indignant  woman, 
and  assumed  a  respectful  manner. 

"  Take  your  chair,  Mrs.  Eldridge,"  he  said,  coolly. 
"  My  earnestness  in  your  cause,  as  the  unhappy  wife 
of  a  friend  highly  regarded  but  in  error,  has  led  me 
to  a  seeming  familiarity  where  none  was  intended. 
I  do  not  leave,  as  you  command  me  to  do,  on  the 
instant,  because  I  am  anxious  to  serve  you  and  will 
not  let  feeling  come  in  to  paralyze  my  good  pur 
poses.  Calm  yourself!" 

Mrs.  Eldridge,  seeing  that  the  man  purposed  to 
remain,  and  having  no  further  desire  to  listen  to 
any  thing  he  might  have  to  say,  went  quickly  from 
the  room  and  passed  to  her  own  private  apartment, 
where  she  locked  herself  in. 

She  had  been  alone  for  some  twenty  minutes, 
when  there  was  a  light  tap  on  her  door. 

"Who  is  there?"  she  called. 

"  Mrs.  Eidridge !"  It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Glendy. 

The  door  was  opened  instantly,  and  Mrs.  Glendy 
stepped  into  the  room.  Her  face  wore  a  pleasant 
aspect.  As  she  took  the  chair  offered  her  by  Mrs. 
EV'tridge,  she  said,  smiling, — 

"•  What  has  my  good  friend  Mr.  Craig  been  saying 


FALSE   FRIENDS    TRIED.  209 

to  offend  you?  He  tells  me  that  he  has  been  so 
un'brt'jMate  as  unwittingly  to  arouse  your  indigna 
tion  aiminst  him.'' 

°  \ 

"  lie  presumed  upon  a  familiarity  that  no  gentle 
man  would  venture  to  take  under  the  circumstances 
The  act  of  coming  unannounced  to  the  room  where 
I  believed  myself  free  from  intrusion  was  in  itself 
an  outrage." 

"Oh,  dear !  no,  Mrs.  Eldridge !  It  was  the 
thoughtless  act  of  an  earnest-minded  man,  over- 
eager  to  serve  you.  I  was  engaged  at  the  time,  and 
could  not  come  up  with  him.  He  would  have 
waited  until  I  was  disengaged ;  but  I  urged  him  to 
see  you,  saying  that  I  knew  you  too  well  to  fear  for 
his  right  reception.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Eldridge,  you 
have  entirely  misapprehended  him.  Mr.  Craig  is  a 
man  of  unselfish  impulses,  and  has  taken  up  your 
cause  in  the  warmest  manner.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  deeply  grieved  he  is  that  you  should  have  mis 
conceived  his  intentions." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  was  silent. 

"He  is  still  here,"  added  Mrs.  Glendy.  "Will 
you  see  him  in  my  presence?" 

"  No,"  was  the  firm  answer. 

A.  shade  of  disappointment  dimmed  the  face  of 
Mrs.  Glendy. 

"You  are  not  in  earnest,  my  dear  Mrs.  Eldridge?" 

"  I  am  entirely  so.  The  man's  conduct  admits  of 
LO  excuse." 

"  Oh,  dear !"  laughed  Mrs.  Glendy,  "  what  a  strange 
body  you  are !  Well,  well ;  youll  see  better  in  time, 

18* 


210  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO  ? 

and,  in  the  end,  know  your  friends  better.  Ton 
will  not  give  Mr.  Craig  an  opportunity  to  explain 
himself?" 

"  N^ot  to-day.  My  feelings  are  too  much  disturbed 
and  my  mind  in  too  great  confusion." 

"A  reason  that  Mr.  Craig  must  receive  as  valid,' 
said    Mrs.  Glendy,   cheerfully.      "  The   man   hasn't 
much  tact,"  she  added,  "but  he  is  all  right  at  heart. 
I  know  him  like  a  book." 

Excusing  herself,  in  a  little  while,  Mrs.  Glendy 
left  the  apartment,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  again 
alone.  There  was  something  in  the  manner  of 
Mrs.  Glendy  during  this  short  interview  that  left  a 
vaguely-unpleasant  impression  on  her  mind, — some 
thing  that  was  like  the  lifting  of  a  veil,  giving  a 
sudden  glimpse  of  things  erst  hidden  from  sight, 
yet  too  brief  for  distinct  vision.  Her  earnest 
apology  for  Craig  did  not  remove  a  single  feeling 
of  repulsion  from  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Eldridge,  but 
rather  involved  the  apologist.  Why  should  she  take 
up  the  man's  case  so  warmly? 

"I  have  indeed  fallen  upon  evil  days,"  murmured 
the  wretched  woman,  as  clouds  drew  thicker  around 
*ier.  "  Where  am  I,  and  whither  am  I  going  ?" 

But  there  came  no  answer  to  questions  that  in 
truded  themselves  unbidden  and  almost  clamonnl 
for  a  reply. 

What  of  the  future  ?  No  echo  came  back  from 
the  impenetrable  darkness  beyond. 


TOO   LATE  211 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

TOO   LATE. 

"WE'LL  bring  all  that  down  in  good  time,"  said 
Mrs.  Glendy,  speaking  to  herself,  as  she  left  the 
room  of  the  excited  and  indignant  Mrs.  Eldridge. 
"There's  some  prudery  remaining,  but  it  will  die 
out!  Craig  has  too  little  tact  and  too  little  patience. 
She's  a  woman  of  spirit,  and  no  mistake!  Time 
works  wonderful  changes,  and  we'll  see  what  we 
shall  see." 

And  with  these  vague  utterances  she  descended 
to  the  parlor,  where  the  man  Craig  awaited  her 
return. 

""Well,  how  did  you  find  her?"  he  inquired,  in  a 
light  manner. 

"Spicy,"  replied  Mrs.  Glendy. 

"She's  a  keen  one,  and  no  mistake,  now:  isn't 
she?" 

"There's  stuff  about  her." 

"  You  may  well  say  that.  Eldridge  met  his  matcl 
in  her,  I'm  thinking,"  said  Craig. 

"  He  did,  and  just  such  a  match  as  all  men  of  liia 
charactei  should  meet.  I  like  to  see  your  would-be 
domestic  tyrants  catch  a  Tartar  sometimes." 

"  She  has  teeth  and  claws,  I  take  it,"  was  remarked, 
in  a  coarse  manner. 


212  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

"As  you  will  find  unless  you  treat  her  very  gin 
gerly,"  said  Mrs.  Glendy,  with  quite  as  vulgar  an 
air  as  that  of  her  companion. 

But  we  cannot  soil  our  pages  with  a  further  record 
of  their  conversation.  Before  parting,  a  system  of 
treatment  for  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  settled  upon  which 
it  was  believed  would  hend  her  to  their  purposes. 

The  miserable  woman  was  left  entirely  alone 
during  the  remainder  of  the  day.  "When  supper 
was  announced  she  asked  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  sent 
to  her  room,  which  was  done.  There  appeared  to  he 
many  visitors  at  the  house  during  the  evening,  and 
she  heard  the  murmur  of  a  good  deal  of  conversa 
tion  carried  on,  it  seemed  to  her,  in  subdued  voices 
and  at  no  great  distance  from  the  apartment  she 
occupied.  Mrs.  Glendy  did  not  visit  her  again 
during  that  day  or  evening.  They  met  at  breakfast- 
time  on  the  next  morning,  and  Mrs.  Eldridge  felt 
instantly  that  her  friend  was  changed  toward  her. 
Mrs.  Glendy  smiled  and  bowed  courteously,  and  had 
a  pleasant  word,  as  before ;  but  the  smile  was  colder, 
the  manner  not  so  bland,  and  the  utterance  void  of 
heartiness.  A  certain  formality  and  approach  to 
embarrassment  could  not  fail  to  arise. 

After  breakfast  Mrs.  Glendy  took  her  unhappy 
friend  by  the  arm,  and  said,  as  they  wTalked  togethei 
from  the  dining-room, — 

"Have  you  given  your  future  any  serious  thought 
yet,  Mrs.  Eldridge?" 

"I  have  thought  of  little  else  for  the  last  two 
days,"  was  the  almost  mournful  answer. 


TOO  LATE.  213 

"What  are  your  plans  and  purposes?  I  ask  as  a 
fiiend  deeply  interested  in  your  welfare." 

"Plans?  purposes?"  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  be- 
wildered. 

"Yes.     You  have  taken  the  very  decisive  step  of 

separation  from  your  husband.  That  was  as  it 
Bhould  be.  You  acted  like  a  woman  of  spirit,  aa 
you  are;  but  a  step  like  this  is  only  the  entrance 
upon  a  new  path  in  life.  There  are  many  steps 
beyond  before  the  journey's  end  is  reached.  Have 
you  not  thought  of  this?" 

Tears  sprung  to  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Eldridge ;  her 
lips  quivered  as  she  essayed  to  answer,  but  there 
was  no  vocal  answer. 

"  You  must  pardon  me  for  intruding  upon  you  a 
subject  that  is  painful  and  unwelcome,"  said  Mrs. 
Glendy.  "It  is  only  the  act  of  true  friendship. 
You  are  now  alone  in  the  world,  as  regards  your 
husband  ;  and  you  must  stand  alone  and  walk  alone 
with  the  same  womanly  independence  that  led  you 
to  throw  ofi  the  chains  of  a  tyrant.  "What  of  your 
family  connections  ?  Are  there  relatives  with  whom 
vou  can  find  a  home  ?" 

Mrs.  Eldridge  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  you  are  entirely  alone  in  the  world  ?" 

"Entirely." 

Mrs.  Glendy  bent  her  eyes  upon  the  floor,  and 
appeared  to  muse  for  some  time. 

"I  thought  you  had  a  brother  living?"  she  at 
length  remarked. 

"I  never  had  a  brother,"  was  replied. 


214  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN  DO? 

"I'm  certain  I  heard  somebody  say  so.  But  it 
was  a  mistake,  of  course.  You  have  no  sister, 
either?" 

"None." 

"Well,"  (Mrs.  Glendy  spoke  in  a  lighter  tone,) 
"there  is  one  advantage  in  all  this: — there'll  be  no 
ono  to  assume  the  right  of  fault-finding  or  inter 
ference,  let  you  do  what  you  will.  Your  own  in- 
clinings  may  be  your  rule  of  action." 

"And  they,  I  trust,  will  always  lead  me  to  do 
right,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  promptly ;  for  she  could 
not  help  feeling  that  the  woman  by  her  side  was 
assuming  the  character  of  a  tempter. 

"Of  course,"  was  the  ready  answer.  "But  your 
own  free  determinations  must  be  your  rule  of  right. 
With  all  the  drawbacks  of  your  position,  it  has  at 
least  this  great  advantage: — you  can  choose  your 
own  sphere  of  life,  and  no  lip  will  be  parted  to  utter 
a  yea  or  a  nay.  Such  freedom  is  worth  gaining  at 
almost  any  sacrifice." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  made  no  response. 

"What  skill  have  you?"  inquired  Mrs.  Glendy. 
They  had  reached  the  parlor  and  were  now  sitting 
together  on  a  sofa. 

"Skill?  How?  I  do  not  clearly  take  your 
meaning,"  said  the  perplexed  woman. 

"  What  was  the  character  of  your  education  ? 
Thorough  ?" 

Mrs.  Eldridge  shook  her  head,  as  she  sighed  out 
the  word,  "  Superficial." 


TOO   LATE.  215 

"You  may  have  a  good  knowledge  of  music, 
qualifying  you  for  the  position  of  a  teacher?" 

How  coldly  fell  these  words  upon  the  heart  of 
Mrs.  Eldridge ! 

"  I  never  had  a  taste  for  music."  The  voice  wai 
husky  and  choking. 

"How  in  regard  to  French?"  pursued  the  querist. 

"I  speak  no  language  beside  my  native  tongue." 

"What  of  drawing?" 

"I  was  never  taught  the  rudiments." 

"Unfortunate !"  Mrs.  Glendy  shook  her  head  and 
looked  sober.  "  If  you  cannot  teach  or  impart  some 
accomplishment,  the  way  before  you  is  a  difficult 
one.  But  there  must  be  self-dependence  at  all 
hazards,  if  you  even  have  to  take  the  position  of 
plain  seamstress  in  some  family." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  started  at  the  suggestion  and  looked 
up  with  flashing  eyes. 

"Do  not  be  offended  with  me,"  said  Mrs.  Glendy, 
blandly.  "My  task  is  in  no  way  agreeable.  But 
the  difficulty  is  a  serious  one,  and  I  am  earnest  in 
my  desire  to  help  you.  What  will  you  do  ?" 

"Leave  your  house  within  an  hour,"  was  the  un 
expected  answer  that  came  almost  indignantly  fron 
the  lips  of  Mrs.  Eldridge,  "  if  my  presence  is  in  the 
slightest  degree  an  unwelcome  one !"  It  came  so 
nnlooked-for  that  Mrs.  Glendy  was  stung  and 
thrown  off  of  her  guard,  answering,  without  time 
ror  rejection, — 

"As  you  [>lease  about  that,  madam  !" 

And  she  arose  with  an  an^ry  stain  on  her  cheeks, 


216  WHAT    CAtf    WOMAN    PO  ? 

Mrs.  Eldridge  arose  abo,  and  the  two  womeri 
from  the  room  by  separate  doors.  Ten  minutes 
afterward  1he  latter  left  the  house;  but  where  was 
she  going?  Hurriedly  she  moved  down  the  street. 
Had  she  taken  the  desperate  resolution  to  return 
jome,  submit  herself  to  her  husband,  and  find  a 
Jncc  of  refuge  in  her  own  family  ?  Be  that  as  it 
may.  she  had  walked  only  a  short  distance,  when,  on 
looking  up  from  the  ground,  she  saw  Mr.  Eldridge 
approaching  and  but  a  few  paces  in  advance.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  coldly  and  sternly  upon  her.  In 
stantly  her  steps  were  arrested,  and  she  stood  si  ill, 
the  power  to  move  being  for  the  moment  gone. 
But  there  was  not  the  slightest  pause  on  the  port  of 
Mr.  Eldridge,  nor  any  sign  of  recognition.  fie 
stalked  on,  and  passed  his  wife,  noticing  her  presence 
only  by  his  stern  repellant  looks. 

The  steps  of  poor  Mrs.  Eldridge  were  unsteady  as 
she  moved  forward  again.  A  little  way  beyond  wna 
the  bouse  of  Mrs.  Weakly,  and  into  tbis  she  turned ; 
not  that  she  looked  for  a  warm  welcome,  but  where 
else  could  she  go  ? 

She  was  met  by  her  friend  with  an  exclamatiou 
Df  painful  surprise;  and  no  wonder,  for  her  face 
was  pale  as  ashes.  Mrs.  Eldridge  tried  to  speak, 
but  the  power  of  utterance  was  gone.  She  hail 
only  time  to  get  fairly  within  the  house  when  she 
fainted. 

"  Trouble !"  Muttered  Mrs.  Weakly,  in  a  fretful 
voice,  as  she  assisted  the  domestic  whom  she  had 
sailed  to  carry  the  insensible  body  of  Mrs.  Eldridga 


TOO    LATE.  217 

np  to  one  of  her  chambers.     "  I  wondei  why  she 
didn't  stay  where  she  was  !" 

As  a  matter  of  course,  with  feelings  that  prompted 
Buch  a  remark,  Mrs.  Weakly  was  not  over-cor 
dial  toward  Mrs.  Eldridge  when  the  latter  was 
restored  to  consciousness.  What  had  occurred  at 
Mrs.  Glendy's  was  related;  but  Mrs.  Weakly 
thought  that  her  friend  had  looked  at  things 
through  an  exaggerated  medium,  and  urged  her  to 
go  back  again  and  advise  more  earnestly  with  Mrs. 
Gleudy  as  to  the  future. 

"My  feet  will  never  cross  her  threshold  again!' 
said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  in  a  voice  that  showed  her  to  bo 
altogether  in  earnest. 

"What,  then,  do  you  intend  doing?"  The  ques 
tion  was  asked  without  delicacy  or  hesitation. 

"Heaven  knows!  The  way  is  very  dark  befoie 
me."  And  Mrs.  Eldridge  caught  her  breath  to  keep 
down  her  feelings. 

"I  would  cheerfully  give  you  a  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Weakly;  "but  my  husband  is  strongly  prejudiced 
against  you,  and  would  not  consent  to  your  remain, 
"ng  in  the  house.  He  is  very  angry  at  Jae  part  I 
have  taken  in  your  favor,  and  we  have  had  warm 
words  on  the  subject  several  times  already.  Should 
he  find  you  here  on  his  return  he  will  be  outrageous. 
1  never  knew  him  to  take  on  so  about  any  thing  in 
my  lift.  Oh,  dear !  What  is  to  be  done  I  know  not. 
[  wish " 

But  the  little  woman  caught  herself  and  kopt 
back  the  words  that  were  leaping  into  though  t*o%» 

19 


t'18  \VHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

utterance.  Her  tone  and  manner  were,  however, 
very  unpleasant. 

Poor  Mrs.  Eldridge  felt,  crushed  to  the  earth  ar.d 
helpless.  So  much  for  her  very  dear  friends  who 
bad  so  warmly  encouraged  her  to  separate  from  hei 
husband ! 

"I  ask  only  one  favor  of  you,  Mrs.  Weakly." 
She  spoke  in  a  subdued,  almost  humble,  voice, 
pausing  for  a  response. 

"Name  it,"  returned  the  friend.  The  little  worda 
were  not  over-cordially  spoken. 

"  The  privilege  of  remaining  in  your  house  three 
days.  After  that  I  will  trouble  you  no  longer  with 
my  unwelcome  presence." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Eldridge!  How  can  you  utter  such 
language,  and  to  me?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Weakly.  "As 
if  I  had  changed  toward  you  !  Unwelcome  pre 
sence  !  I  feel  hurt  by  your  words." 

"It  was  not  in  my  heart  to  wound,"  said  Mrs.  El 
dridge,  still  speaking  in  a  low,  troubled  voice.  "But 
I  cannot  hide  the  fact  that  I  am  no  longer  to  you  or 
others  what  I  was  a  few  short  weeks  ago.  Let  that, 
however,  pass.  All  I  desire  is  that  you  will  giant 
me  the  small  favor  of  a  home  for  three  days.  After 
that  I  will  go  forth,  never  again  to  return." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Eldridge,  I  answer  'yes,  yes,'  and 
without  an  instant's  hesitation,"  replied  Mrs.  Weakly, 
greatly  relieved  at  this  moderate  stipulation ;  for  sho 
had  begun  to  fear  that  her  friend  was  about  to  fall 
back  upon  her  and  Mrs.  Glendy  a  helpless  burden. 

"It  will  grieve  me,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  "if  my 


TOO   LATE. 

brief  presence  in  your  house  should  cause  any  thing 
unpleasant  between  you  and  your  husband." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,'  answered  Mrs.  Weakly,  "  my 
husband  can  be  made  to  hear  reason.  I'll  manage 
him.  It  will  only  be  for  three  days  at  most." 

Three  days  at  most!  There  was  more  of  satis 
faction  in  the  tone  with  which  these  words  were 
nttered  than  Mrs.  "Weakly  dreamed  that  she  was 
betraying. 

The  three  days  passed  quickly.  Not  very  intimate 
or  cordial  was  the  intercourse  of  the  friends  during 
the  time.  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  reserved;  and  Mrs. 
Weakly  did  not  ply  her  with  curious  questions,  for 
her  interest  in  the  future  of  the  woman  she  had 
helped  to  lead  astray  from  the  path  in  which  her 
feet  should  now  be  walking  went  but  little  beyond 
the  three  days. 

The  firat  act  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  was  to  transmit  a 
brief  note  to  her  husband,  desiring  him  to  send  her 
clothing  and  a  small  sum  of  money.  Her  messen 
ger  returned  with  word  that  in  an  hour  all  she  asked 
woul-I  be  ready. 

"What  an  hour  of  suspense  that  was  to  the 
wretched  woman  !  How  many  thoughts,  s'igges 
tions,  hopes,  and  fears,  agitated  her  mind.  Would 
her  husband  make  any  written  communication  ? 
Would  he  send  her  even  a  verbal  message  ?  Oh,  ii 
he  would  but  speak  one  kind  word!  On  that  word 
she  would  fly  back  to  him,  burying  all  indignation 
and  self-will  beneath  the  ruins  of  her  humbled  pride. 
How  weak  and  helpless  she  felt !  How  powerless  to 


220  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

go  forth  into  the  world  and  engage  single-handed 
in  the  battle  of  life ! 

At  the  expiration  of  the  hour,  punctual  to  the 
very  minute,  the  messenger  went  back.  From  the 
time  he  left  until  his  return  Mrs.  Eldridge  sat  at  the 
window  of  her  room,  which  looked  out  upon  the 
street,  waiting  his  appearance  with  a  disturbed, 
eager,  questioning  spirit.  How  much  was  sus 
pended  on  a  single  thread  that  might  snap  in  an 
instant! 

The  messenger  returned.  Mrs.  Eldridge  saw  two 
large  trunks  deposited  on  the  pavement.  How 
heavily  her  sad  heart  sunk  down  !  how  weak  she  be 
came  !  A  momentary  faintness  made  her  eyes  grow 
dim.  But  hope  sprung  up  again  and  fluttered  its 
weak  wings  eagerly.  The  messenger  drew  a  letter 
from  his  pocket  and  came  toward  the  door.  Until 
that  missive  reached  her  hand  Mrs.  Eldridge  scarcely 
breathed.  The  calmness  with  which  she  broke  the 
seal  and  unfolded  the  sheet  of  paper  it  contained 
was  superhuman.  A  moment  after  it  dropped  from 
her  hand,  her  form  shrinking  down  as  if  a  heavy 
weight  had  been  laid  upon  her  shoulders.  Her 
head  sunk  upon  her  bosom,  and  she  sat  the  image 
of  weak  despair. 

Not  a  single  line  had  her  husband  written !  There 
was  an  enclosure  of  one  hundred  dollars:  but  not  a 
word  of  rebuke,  forgiveness,  or  counsel.  The  dead, 
blank  silence  crushed  down  upon  her  liko  hopeless 
fete. 


JTEW   SCENES   AND   CHARACTERS.  221 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

NEW   SCENES   AND   CHARACTERS. 

change  the  scene  from  Arden.  Many  miles 
away,  in  the  pleasant  town  of  Bloomfield,  lived  a 
woman  far  advanced  in  years,  named  Mrs.  Angell. 
She  was  a  widow,  with  an  only  and  widowed  daugh 
ter,  who  had  come  home  to  her  in  the  dark  days  of 
her  bereavement,  broken  in  health  and  spirits  and 
burdened  with  four  young  children.  Mrs.  Angell 
owned  a  small  house  and  a  few  acres  of  ground, 
and  had,  besides,  a  yearly  income  of  three  hundred 
dollars  secured  to  her  during  the  terai  of  her 
natural  life. 

Twelve  years  had  passed  since  Phoebe,  the  daugh 
ter,  young,  beautiful,  and  full  of  joyful  hope  in  the 
future,  went  forth  a  bride  from  the  home  of  her 
mother,  and  left  the  heart  of  that  mother  sad  and 
desolate;  for  Phoebe  was  the  very  light  of  her  life. 
Now  she  returned,  the  freshness  of  her  youth  gone, 
her  spirits  broken,  and  her  weary  heart  sighing  for 
rest  and  peace,  even  if  they  were  found  only  in  the 
grave.  And  thitherward  her  steps  were  indeed 
tending  ;  nor  was  the  journey  to  be  long. 

"Dear  mother!  Dear  home  !"  How  full  of  emo 
tion  was  the  voice  that  uttered  these  words,  repeated 
over  and  over  again,  and  for  days  after  Phoebe's  re- 

19* 


222  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO  ? 

turn.  For  a  time  it  seemed  to  her  almost  as  if  she 
were  dreaming;  and  she  would  shut  her  eyes  and 
try  to  bring  the  present  reality  into  distinct  appre 
ciation. 

"Dear  mother!  dear  home!"  She  had  no  other 
words  but  these  to  express  her  feelings.  Ah  !  since 
he  went  out  from  her  home  and  her  mother  life 
had  assumed  new  aspects.  For  a  time  the  sky  was 
clearer  and  the  days  went  down  in  greater  beauty. 
leaving  behind  the  rich  promise  of  brighter  days  to 
come.  But  soon — too  soon,  alas-! — clouds  dimmed 
the  fair  horizon,  gathering  darker  and  gloomier  as 
time  wore  on,  until  fearful  storms  broke  upon  her 
head  and  left  their  marks  of  desolation  all  along 
the  path  she  was  treading. 

The  weary,  heart-sick  wanderer  had  come  back  to 
the  old  home ;  but  oh !  how  changed  ! 

Mrs.  Angell  was  really  too  old  and  feeble  to  as 
sume  the  new  duties  and  take  upon  herself  the  new 
burdens  that  must  come  as  the  consequence  of  hei 
daughter's  return.  But,  even  if  she  had  desired  tc 
escape  the  duty  and  refuse  the  burden,  there  was  n< 
alternative.  Love  inspired  her  with  new  strength, 
and  almost,  for  a  time,  renewed  her  youth.  Into 
her  heart  as  well  as  her  home  she  received  the  help 
less  ones. 

Had  Phoebe  been  alone,  the  task  would  have  been 
a  light  one  for  Mrs.  Angell.  But  Phosbe  brought 
with  her  four  badly-trained  and  badly-governed 
children,  who  made  a  rude  invasion  of  the  quiet 
home  of  their  grandmother  and  threw  all  things 


NEW   SCENES   AND   CHAKACTERS.  223 

into  temporary  disorder.  The  mother  fretted, 
scolded,  complained,  threatened ;  but  her  words,  it 
was  observed  by  Mrs.  Angell,  were  scarcely  if  at  all 
heeded.  She  had  lost  the  cortrol  of  her  children,— 
f,  indeed,  she  had  ever  possessed  a  right  influence 
over  them. 

''You'll  never  be  able  to  get  along  with  them 
children  in  the  world,"  said  a  neighbor  to  Mrs, 
Angell.  "  They'll  worry  the  life  and  soul  out  of 
you !" 

"They're  healthy,  active,  and  unrestrained,"  waa 
Mrs.  Angell's  mild  answer ;  "  a  little  rude  and  quar 
relsome,  but  not  worse  at  heart  than  other  children. 
I  shall  be  able  to  get  along  with  them." 

At  this  moment  the  two  oldest  came  stamping 
and  screaming  into  the  room,  paying  not  the 
slightest  heed  to  those  present,  nor  abating  in  the 
least  degree  their  noise  at  the  gentle  remonstrance 
of  their  grandmother. 

The  neighbor,  herself  well  advanced  in  years, 
shook  her  head,  as  the  noisy  couple  left  finally  at 
their  own  good  pleasure,  remarking,  as  she  did  so, — • 

"  I.  pity  you,  Mrs.  Angell !  Were  such  a  brood 
thrown  upon  my  hands,  at  my  time  of  life,  I'd  run 
away  from  Bloom  field.  It's  a  shame!  Phcebe 
ehould  have  made  an  effort  to  keep  them  herself 
and  by  herself." 

The  neighbor  spoke  warmly. 

"Phcebe  is  too  weak,"  Mrs.  Angell  replied,  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  with  feeling,  ;'  even  to  stand 
alone  in  the  world,  far  less  to  bear  up  with  the 


224  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

weight  of  these  children  upon  her.  The  days  of 
her  earthly  pilgrimage,  I  fear,  are  numbered,  and 
the  sum  small.  For  one  thing  I  thank  my  heavenly 
Father;  and  it  is  this:"  (the  voice  of  good  Mrs, 
Angell  had  grown  iirm  again,  and  light  shone  in 
her  aged  countenance :) — "  that  I  have  a  home  and 
a  heart  for  her  and  hers.  Many  times  have  I  thought 
that  my  work  was  done  in  this  world ;  and  I  have 
sometimes  wondered  why  I  was  still  permitted  to 
live  on.  But  I  was  only  a  blind  doubter  and  ques 
tioner.  He  who  sees  the  end  from  the  beginning 
taw  the  work  still  in  reserve  for  me : — a  great  and 
important  work  of  training  four  young  immortals 
lor  his  kingdom.  All  is  clear  now,  my  friend,  and 
the  path  of  duty  plain  before  me.  May  he  give  me 
strength  and  faith  and  patience !" 

"  Amen  !  For  you  need  them  !"  the  neighbor  re 
sponded,  almost  irreverently. 

"  We  need  them  at  all  times  and  under  every 
varying  circumstance  of  our  lives,"  said  Mrs.  Angell. 
*'  I  need  them  now,  as  I  have  always  needed  them  ; 
and  it  is  so,  and  has  always  been  so,  with  you.  We 
usually  feel  as  much  burdened  by  small  duties  as  by 
large  ones ;  for  as  our  day  is  so  will  our  strength  be. 
Under  some  circumstances  the  grasshopper  is  a  bur 
den.  But  the  more  important  duties  that  require 
earnestness  and  self-sacrifice  have  their  larger,  and 
Sometimes  their  exceeding  great,  rewards." 

'•  You  always  take  a  higher  view  of  things  than  it 
is  possible  for  me  to  take,"  replied  the  neighbor. 
k"I  wish  sometimes  that  I  were  like  you.  But  we 


NEW    SCENES    AND    CHARACTERS.  225 

can  t  be  all  alike  in  this  world.  As  for  the  burden 
which  you  have  now  taken  upon  yourself,  you  will 
find  it  heavier  than  a  flock  of  grasshoppers  !  Good- 
aeas !"  The  children  returned,  screeching  and 
stamping  through  the  room  again.  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  such  a  din,  or  see  such  a  graceless,  unmannerly 
set?"  remarked  the  neighbor,  on  their  final  egress-. 
'*  If  you  succeed  in  doing  any  thing  with  them  you 
•vill  be  a  worker  of  wonders." 

"  There  is  a  door  of  entrance  into  every  heart,  if 
rou  can  only  unlock  it,"  said  Mrs.  Angell,  cheer- 
ully. 

"  There  are  some  hearts  the  door  of  which  no 
numan  hand  has  skill  to  unlock,"  was  replied. 

Mrs.  Angell  shook  her  head.  "  I  never  tried  to 
enter  the  heart  of  any  one  that  I  did  not  iind  the 
key." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  make  the  trial  with  my 
daughter  Mary's  oldest  boy,  Tom.  Such  a  limb  I 
never  met  with !  Mary  sent  him  down  here  a  few 
weeks  ago  to  spend  his  vacation  ;  but  I  packed  him 
off  home  in  three  days.  I  never  saw  his  match ! 
11(3  paid  no  more  heed  to  me  than  if  I  had  been 
some  superannuated  old  negro.  If  I  said  l  Tom, 
stop  that  noise,'  or  ' Don't  do  that,  Tom,'  he  never  so 
much  as  looked  at  me,  but  kept  on  acting  worse,  if 
any  thing.  Why,  he  hadn't  been  in  the  house  three 
hours  before  I  boxed  his  ears  soundly  for  some  im- 
|vud  iiice,  which  I  never  take  from  children.  If  the 
king's  son  were  to  give  me  impudence,  I'd  box  hia 
ears  for  Hm  soundly ! — I  would !  Anyhow,  I  don't 


226  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

believe  in  children  being  pushed  oft*  upon  tlen 
grandmothers,  just  to  get  rid  of  them;  and  so  J 
wrote  to  Mary  when  I  sent  Tom  home.  We  have 
had  our  own  trouhle  with  our  own  children ;  aii'l 
now  let  our  children  take  care  of  their  own  young 
ones.  This  is  the  doctrine  I  preach  and  practise 
too.  Mary  got  right-down  angry,  and  wrote  me  a 
tart  letter.  But  I  took  no  notice  of  that.  Young 
blood  boils  over  quickly;  but  it  cools  oft*  in  good 
time.  There's  one  thing  you'll  have  to  ao,  Mrs. 
Angell;  and  that  is,  take  these  children  down  with 
a  strong  hand;  if  you  don't  they'll  kill  you.  As  for 
that  imaginary  door  in  the  heart,  I  guess  you'll 
never  find  it.  Ruling  by  love  is  a  very  pleasant 
theory;  but  that  sort  of  rule,  I'm  thinking,  has 
ruined  more  children  than  any  thing  else.  You 
have  to  govern  the  young  reprobates  with  an  iron 
band.  That's  heen  my  way." 

"The  result,"  Mrs.  Angell  could  have  said,  (but 
that  would  have  been  too  personal  and  painful,) 
"  does  not  speak  volumes  in  favor  of  your  theory." 
Her  thoughts  had  turned  involuntarily  to  the  chil 
dren  of  her  old  friend  and  neighbor,  not  one  of 
whom  had  turned  out  as  a  mother's  heart  could 
wish.  In  their  early  days  they  were  hectored, 
punished,  and  driven  about  in  a  way  that  closed  np 
their  hearts, — not  lovingly  guided  and  their  natural 
evils  so  repressed  that  good  affections  could  tako 
root  in  the  soil  vf  their  }"oung  minds ;  and,  when 
they  grew  old  enough  and  strong  enough  for  suc 
cessful  rebellion,  they  threw  off*  the  maternal  yoke, 


NEW    SCENES    AND    CHARACTERS.  227 

and  went  out  in  the  world  prepared  to  resist  ail 
authority  that  put  trammels  on  their  freedom.  No ; 
the  result  did  not  speak  strongly  in  favor  of  tho 
aged  friend's  theory. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Angell,  in  a  mild  voice, 
'*  we  must  all  act  as  we  see  to  be  right.  You;  wi\y 
was  never  my  way." 

"I  know  that,  Mrs.  AngeL,  for  we  used  to  Lave 
many  talks  on  the  subject."  The  neighbor's  voice 
fell,  and  became  a  little  mournful  in  its  tone. 
"  And  maybe  I  was  too  hard,  sometimes.  But  I 
did  every  thing  for  the  best.  Ah  me !  Children 
are  always  a  sorrow.  I've  heard  of  having  joy  in 
children,  and  all  that ;  but  I  never  yet  saw  anybody 
wh  )se  experience  verified  the  saying." 

Mrs.  Angell  made  no  answer,  but  sat,  with  her 
eyes  upon  the  floor,  lost  in  thoughts  and  memories 
excited  by  the  remarks  of  her  friend.  The  latter 
remained  silent  also.  At  last  Mrs.  Angell  said, — 

"I  often  think  of  that  boy — the  son  of  your  first 
husband — who  ran  away  so  many  years  ago.  What 
has  become  of  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear !  Mrs.  Angell,  I  never  suffer  memory 
to  go  back  that  far,  if  I  can  help  it,"  sighed  tho 
neighbor.  "  Poor  Morgan  !  There  was  a  great  deal 
of  good  in  him,  for  all  his  self-will  and  disobedience 
He  was  a  smart  boy,  too,  and  I  was  so  proud  of  Lim  ; 
— if  he  wasn't  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  But  two 
sharp  tempers  came  together  when  we  mot ;  or, 
rather,  it  was  flint  and  steel.  I  was  very  young  and 
inexperienced,  then,  Mrs.  Angell,  as  you  know,  and 


228  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

very  high-tempered.     Poor  boy!    His  father  almost 
broke  his  heart  about  him." 

"  He  cannot  be  living,"  &-aid  Mrs.  Angell. 

"No.     "We  gave  him  up   for  dead  many  years 
ago." 

"  How  long  has  it  been,  Mrs.  Burden,  since  ho 
went  away?" 

"  Twenty-five  years." 

"  He  was  thirteen,  I  believe  ?" 

"Yes,  just  entering  his  fourteenth  year.  But  I 
cannot  bear  to  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Angell.  1  was  to 
blame  there,  I  know.  I  had  too  little  patience  with 
the  boy,  and  made  rather  a  hard  stepmother.  His 
own  mother  was  a  gentle,  yielding,  affectionate  crea 
ture,  as  we  all  know,  and  spoiled  Morgan  completely. 
It  is  not  much  to  be  wondpred  that  he  felt  coldly 
toward  one  who,  in  assuming  her  place,  attempted 
the  new  government  of  force  and  required  implicit 
obedience.  Such  obedience  is,  I  hold,  absolutely 
necessary,  and  must  be  gained.  But  I  erred  in  being 
too  impatient.  I  did  not  take  time  for  the  will  to 
become  pliant  before  requiring  it  to  bend.  Poor 
Morgan !  The  thought  of  him  has  made  many  a 
night  sleepless.  None  of  my  children  have  done 
very  well,  but  his  case  has  ever  grieved  me  most  of 
all.  Poor  boy !  There  was  in  him  the  promise  of  a 
brilliant  manhood.  What  would  I  not  give  to  know 
his  fate !  But  I  must  not  talk  of  this.  It  makes  me 
too  sad ;  and  regrets  at  my  time  of  life  are  fruitless. 
How  is  Phfiebe  to-day  ?" 


THE   GRANDMOTHER — A   SURPRISE.  22i 

"Not  so  well.  She  has  night- sweats,  and  grow* 
weaker  under  them." 

"Poor  child!  That  is  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Bvr^n, 
rising.  "Well,  good-day,"  she  added.  "I  hope  all 
will  come  out  right;  but  you  have  undertaken  a 
great  deal  at  your  time  of  life." 

And  the  neighbor  went  home,  musing  by  the  way, 
and  wondering  how  Mrs.  Angell  would  ever  bear  up 
under  the  new  duties  she  hud  taken  upon  herself. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   GRANDMOTHER — A    SURPRISE. 

STEADILY  searched  Mrs.  Angell  for  the  door  in 
the  hearts  of  her  grandchildren;  and  she  found  it, 
as  she  knew  that  she  would, — found  it  in  each  heart, 
opened  the  door,  and  went  in. 

Very  great  was  the  wonder  of  Mrs.  Burden  at  tho 
steady  change  that  went  on  in  these  children, — pro 
gressively  visible  each  time  she  dropped  in,  as  waa 
her  frequent  custom,  to  sit  and  talk  with  her  old 
friend  and  neighbor. 

"It  really  beats  me  out,"  she  said,  "to  see  v,b?«t 
an  ultei'&tkM  there  is  in  that  great,  rough  boy.  -1J( 
was  like  a  bear.  How  in  the  world  have  you 
managed  to  :ame  him  ?" 

"Not  by  force,  Mrs.  Burden,"  returned  Mr*. 
20 


230  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

Angell.  "Not  by  force,  you  may  be  sure ;  for,  if  I 
hai  the  will  to  rule  by  a  strong  arm,  the  strength  is 
wanting.  My  frame  is  weak,  my  step  toners,  my 
Land  is  feeble.  I  am  in  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf. 
Oh,  no,  my  friend  ;  the  power  over  them  was  gained 
in  another  way.  I  sought  for  the  door  in  their 
hearts,  and  found  it." 

"It  is  wonderful !  I  can  say  no  more."  The  face 
)f  Mrs.  Burden  expressed  astonishment. 

"John,"  the  grandmother  spoke,  in  a  very  gentle 
voice,  leaning  from  the  window  near  which  she  was 
sitting,  "tell  William  that  he  is  hammering  'most 
too  loud :  the  noise  will  disturb  his  mother." 

"  He'll  stop,  of  course !"  Mrs.  Burden  spoke 
doubtingly. 

But  scarcely  had  the  words  passed  her  lips  ere  the 
noise  ceased. 

"Grandmother,"  said  a  voice  at  tho  window,  in  a 
cheerful  tone,  "I'm  mending  my  wagon- wheel,  and 
have  only  one  more  nail  to  drive." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  replied  Mrs.  Angell;  "you  can 
drive  that  one." 

"If  you  think  it  disturbs  mother  I  can  go  round 
by  the  barn,"  said  William. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  do  so,  Willy:  your  iro- 
ther  is  sleeping." 

The  bright  face  of  the  lad  disappeared  from  tho 
window,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  sound  of  his 
hammer  was  heard  faintly  in  the  distance. 

"Well,  that  does  beat  all!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bur 
den.  "  I've  read  of  such  things  in  books,  but  never 


THE   GRANDMOTHER — A    SURPRISE.  231 

saw  the  like  before  with  my  natural  eyes.    How  have 
you  managed?     What  is  your  secret?" 

"I  have  not  subdued  them  by  force,  as  already 
said;  and  there  are  but  two  ways  to  manage  chil 
dren,"  replied  Mrs.  Angell.  "  Contention  and  the 
strong  hand  may  answer  in  some  cases, — though  I 
have  my  doubts ;  but  love  is  always  powerful.  Make 
a  child  understand  that  you  are  his  friend  and  feel  an 
interest  in  all  that  concerns  him,  and  your  influence 
is  at  once  established.  Love  creates  love.  The  say 
ing  is  so  trite  that  we  forget  its  value." 

"It  isn't  so  easy  to  tio  all  that,"  said  Mrs.  Burden. 

"Do  what?" 

"Take  an  interest  in  every  thing  that  interests 
children.  I  never  could  do  it,  even  in  my  younger 
days,  and  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  do  it  now." 

"If  we  from  the  heart  desire  their  good,"  was 
answered,  "we  will  in  all  possible  ways  adapt  our 
selves  to  their  condition.  Singularly  enough,  all  the 
sacrifice,  adaptation,  and  conformity  to  circumstance 
is  by  some  people  required  of  children.  They  must 
bend  to  every  thing  around  them,  while  nothing 
bends  to  them.  They  must  be  proper  and  orderly 
self-denying  and  patient;  must  not  be  angry  no 
nide,  self-willed  nor  exacting.  And  yet  the  very 
parents  who  visit  these  evils  in  their  children  with 
indignant  rebuke  or  swift  punishment  never  think 
it  necessary  to  overcome  like  evils  in  themselves! 
At  best,  1hey  go  little  beyond  adroit  concealment; 
and  even  this  veil  is  too  rarely  assumed  at  home. 
If  a  mother,  in  sudden  anger,  speak  sharply  to  her 


232  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

child  and  use  unseemly  words,  can  we  wonder  that 
the  child  imitates  her  when  in  strife  with  his  brother 
or  sister  ?  If  she  strike  in  a  fit  of  passion,  will  not 
the  child,  acting  from  its  inherent  impulses  and  in 
structed  by  such  high  example,  strike  also?  As  the 
mother  or  nurse  or  attendant  is,  so,  Mrs.  Burden, 
will  the  children  be,  There  must  be  self-conquest 
before  there  can  be  order  in  the  household.  WQ 
must  be  truly  loving  before  the  spirit  of  love  can 
pervade  our  homes.  Order,  peace,  good-will,  gentle 
ness,  and  a  preference  of  one  over  the  other,  never 
have  their  origin  among  the  children,  rising  from 
them  upward,  but  have  birth  in  the  hearts  of  the 
parents,  and  are  seen  first  in  their  lives.  It  is  from 
them  that  the  sphere  of  love  goes  forth,  filling  the 
whole  atmosphere  and  making  it  radiant  with  hea 
venly  light  and  musical  with  the  songs  of  angels." 

The  head  of  Mrs.  Burden  bent  lower  and  lower 
as  Mrs.  Angell  talked,  for  she  was  rebuked  by  her 
words.  Both  sat  silent  for  some  moments.  In  the 
pause  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard,  and  Mrs, 
Angell,  glancing  from  the  window,  said,  in  a  tone 
of  indifference, — 

"The  stage.     It  always  passes  about  this  time." 

"See;  the  driver  is  reining  up  his  horses."  Mrs. 
Burden  leaned  over  toward  the  window  as  she  spoke. 

"  So  he  is.  I  wonder  who  is  going  to  srop  here? 
No  one  that  I  can  think  of." 

"There's  a  lady  getting  out,"  said  Mrs.  Burden. 
"Can  you  see  her  face  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  she  is  a  stranger  to  me.     There's  some 


THE   GRANDMOTHER — A   SURPRISE.  233 

mistake,  probably.     I  must  go  out  and  see  what  it 
means." 

By  the  time  Mrs.  Angell  arrived  at  the  garden 
gate,  that  opened  on  the  road,  two  trunks  had  been 
deposited  on  the  ground  and  the  stranger  stood  be« 
side  them.     Her  veil  was  closely  drawn. 

"Mrs.  Angell?"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  inquiry. 

"That  is  my  name,  madam,"  replied  the  old  lady 

Mrs.  Burden  had  come  out  to  the  road-side,  her 
curiosity  strongly  excited.  Her  presence  seemed 
unwelcome  to  the  stranger,  who  drew  the  folds  of 
her  veil  closer  and  turned  her  face  partly  aside  from 
the  sharp  scrutiny  of  her  small,  piercing  gray  eyes. 

There  was  a  momentary  embarrassment  on  all 
sides ;  but  this  was  relieved  by  Mrs.  Angell,  who, 
in  a  voice  the  kindness  of  which  penetrated  the 
stranger's  heart,  invited  her  to  walk  in,  at  the  same 
time  giving  directions  to  a  working-man,  who  had 
come  out  on  hearing  the  stage  stop,  to  carry  the  two 
trunks  into  the  house. 

The  curiosity  of  Mrs.  Burden  was  intensely  ex 
cited  ;  but  she  saw  that  it  was  not  right  for  her  to 
remain  under  the  circumstances,  and  so  went 
home. 

The  stranger,  as  soon  as  she  was  alone  with  Mrs. 
Angell,  drew  aside  her  veil  and  showed  her  the  pale, 
thin  face  of  a  woman  not  far  in  years  beyond  life'? 
middle  altitude.  There  was  something  familiar  ic 
the  face;  and  yet  Mrs.  Angell  could  not  recognise 
it  as  the  face  of  one  she  had  ever  known.  How  in 
tently  were  the  dark  eyes  of  the  stranger  fixed  upon 

20* 


234  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

her  countenance  !     How  eagerly  was  every  line,  as 
an  index  to  her  heart,  read  over! 

"Aunt  Margaret!"  she  at  last  ejaculated,  a  gush 
of  feeling  in  her  voice.  How  the  words  and  tones 
thrilled  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Angel! ! 

"Aunt  Margaret!"  repeated  the  stranger,  bending 
closer.  "Oh,  Aunt  Margaret !" 

Feeling  could  be  controlled  no  longer.  Tears 
leaped  from  the  stranger's  eyes,  and,  bending  for 
ward,  she  laid  her  weeping  face  against  the  good  old 
lady's  bosom. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  Emotion  had  spent  itself,  and 
the  stranger,  calm  in  exterior,  had  laid  off  her  tra 
velling-attire,  and  sat  looking  into  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Angell,  from  which  her  eyes  turned  scarcely  a  mo 
ment.  The  question  was  soberly  asked,  and  in  a 
voice  that  said,  "I  must  have  a  true  answer." 

"Aunt  Margaret!"  was  the  stranger's  only  yet 
tenderly-uttered  response. 

"Is  your  name  Harriet?"  Mrs.  Angell  inquired, 
a  sudden  light  breaking  in  upon  her  mind. 

"My  name  is  Harriet,"  was  answered. 

"My  brother  had  a  child  named  Harriet"  said 
the  old  lady. 

"I  am  Harriet,"  replied  the  stranger,  with  forced 
calmness  ;  "the  daughter  of  your  brother  James." 

"Dear  heart!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Angell,  her  eyea 
tilling  with  tears.  "And  can  this  indeed  be  my 
brother's  child  ?" 

She  was  bewildered  for  a  time.  Then  she  had 
many  questions  to  ask.  But  to  all  questions  touch- 


THE   GRANDMOTHER — A   SURPRISE.  235 

ing  herself  the  stranger  maintained  the  most  entire 
•reserve. 

"  You  had  a  sister,  I  believe  ?"  said  Mrs.  AngelL 

"  Yes."     The  inquiry  seemed  to  give  her  pain. 

"Is  she  living?" 

"No,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

Mrs.  Angell  waited  for  her  niece  to  communicate 
something  about  one  so  near  to  her  as  an  only  sister. 
But   not  a  word  of  information  was  volunteered; 
and  she  did  not  feel  at  liberty,  under  the  circum 
stances,  to  intrude  upon  her  any  questions. 

"By  what  other  name  than  Harriet  shall  I  call 
you  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Angell. 

"I  have  no  other  name  here,  Aunt  Margaret," 
was  answered,  mournfully. 

"  No  other  name  to  me  ?"  Mrs.  Angell  spoke  as 
if  she  felt  that  such  reserve  toward  her  could  not 
and  would  not  be  maintained. 

"No  other  name,  even  to  you,  Aunt  Margaret," 
replied  tho  stranger, — or  niece,  as  we  must  now  de 
signate  her.  "  I  have  come  to  you  out  of  the  world 
where  I  am  known,  and  it  is  my  desire  to  forget,  if 
that  were  possible,  the  whole  of  my  identity  with 
that  world.  But — Heaven  help  me  ! — oblivion  is 
impossible !" 

For  a  short  time  the  unhappy  woman  was  strongly 
agitated,  but  in  a  little  while  recovered  herself. 

"Aunt  Margaret,"  she  resumed,  speaking  very 
earnestly,  yet  in  a  sad  voice,  "  you  see  one  before 
you  who,  both  sinning  and  sinned  against, — jet 
noat  sinned  against, — has  been  driven  from  the  old 


236  WHAT   CAN   WOMJLN   DO? 

paths  of  life  and  now  seeks  a  hiding-place.  I  have 
come  to  you  because — why  I  cannot  tell — my  heart 
yearned  toward  you,  and  I  felt  that  with  you  I 
should  find  an  arm  to  lean  upon  in  my  weakness. 
If  you  say  to  me,  '  Pass  on ;  there  is  no  home  for 
you  here,'  I  will  take  up  my  burden  and  go  farther. 
But  oh,  Aunt  Margaret,  do  not  say  this; — at  least, 
not  now ;  for  in  the  whole  wide  world  there  is  not 
a  door  but  this  where  I  have  the  shadow  of  a  claim 
to  admission.  For  my  father's  sake,  do  not  send 
me  forth  again !" 

"Dear  child!"  said  Aunt  Margaret,  drawing  an 
arm  around  the  neck  of  her  weeping  relative,  "you 
have  nothing  to  fear  on  that  score.  I  shall  not  say, 
'Pass  on!'" 

"  The  Friend  of  the  friendless  bless  you !"  was 
murmured.  When  a  little  calmer,  the  niece  re 
sumed  : — 

"  I  shall  be  a  burden  to  you,  but  will  make  the 
burden  as  light  as  possible.  I  have  come  out  of  the 
world  in  haste,  fleeing  from  evils  too  great  to  be 
endured,  and  have  come  out  portionless.  But  I 
have  hands  and  a  willing  heart,  and  both  shall  work 
for  you.  Only  let  me  hide  myself  here !" 

"I  have  not  much  to  share  with  you,  Harriet," 
said  Mrs.  Angell ;  ;'  but  to  a  portion  of  what  I  have, 
as  far  as  it  goes,  you  are  welcome.  It  may  not  be, 
however,  that  in  my  humble  way  of  life  you  will 
find  what  custom  and  a  different  mode  of  living 
have  rendered  necessary  to  your  comfort." 

"There  is  too  great  anguish  here,"  replied  thi 


THE   GRANDMOTHER — A   SURPRISE.  237 

niece,  laying  her  hand  against  her  bosom,  "to  leave 
much  concern  for  what  is  on  the  outside.  But  I 
fear  that  I  shall  he  but  a  burden  to  you  at  best. 
Whose  children  are  these?"  she  added,  making  the 
inquiry  abruptly,  as  the  grandchildren  of  Mrs. 
Angell  went  shouting  and  laughing  past  the  win 
dow. 

"  My  daughter  Phrebe's."  Mrs.  Angell  sighed  as 
she  spoke. 

"Are  you  fond  of  children ?"  she  inquired,  a  mo 
ment  after,  speaking  with  some  earnestness. 

"Not  very,"  was  half-indifferently  answered. 

Mrs.  Angell  sighed  again,  and  let  her  eyes  fall 
upon  the  floor,  while  her  countenance  assumed  a 
sober  aspect.  A  sigh  from  the  lips  of  her  niece,  so 
deep  that  it  almost  startled  Mrs.  Angel),  caused  her 
to  look  up.  The  face  of  Harriet  was  almost  dis 
torted  by  some  sharp  mental  suffering. 

"Have  you  children ?     And  are  they  living?" 

If  she  had  paused  a  moment  for  reflection  Mrs. 
Angell  would  not  have  put  this  abrupt  query ;  more 
particularly  as  her  niece  had  positively  averred  that 
she  would  give  no  information  touching  the  past  in 
her  history.  The  question  seemed  to  pierce  with 
the  pain  of  a  sharp  sword.  Harriet  sprung  to  her 
feet,  uttering  a  quick  exclamation.  Turning  a  pale 
face  upon  her  aunt,  she  said, — 

"  Was  it  not  enough,  Aunt  Margaret,  that  I  said 
to  you,  <  I  wish  to  forget  the  past'  ?  Do  not  spur 
me  into  madness  !  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  bear 
lip  much  longer  under  the  crushing  weight  that  ia 


238  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

on  me.  0  Lord,  help  me!"  And  she  flung  her 
hands  wildly  above  her  head.  A  voice  so  full  of 
despair  as  that  in  which  the  last  sentence  was 
uttered  Mrs.  Angell  had  never  heard. 

"  May  I  be  alone  for  a  little  while,  Aunt  Mar 
garet?" 

The  strong  agitation  was  suddenly  repressed,  and 
Harriet  stood  before  her  aunt,  calm,  but  very  pale. 

"Come;"  (Mrs.  Angell's  voice  was  low  and  ten 
der  ;)  "  come,  my  poor  child !" 

And  she  led  her  to  a  small,  neat  chamber,  above, 
the  bed  and  windows  of  which  were  draped  in 
purest  white. 

"  The  world  cannot  find  you  here,  Harriet,"  said 
she,  as  she  turned  partly  away  to  leave  her  alone ; 
"but  God  is  everywhere,  a  present  help  in  times  of 
trouble." 

"Lord,  help  me!"  Heart  and  lips  uttered  tho 
words  fervently  as  the  door  closed,  and  the  mise 
rable  woman  sunk  upon  her  knees  by  the  bedside. 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

DRIVEN    TO    THE    WALL. 

MR.  ELDRIDGE  did  not  see  his  wife  again  after 
meeting  her  in  the  street  as  mentioned.  Absence 
softened  his  feelings  toward  her  but  very  little. 
Her  request  for  clothing  and  some  money  granted, 


TO   THE    WALL.  239 

that  final  act  of  separation  was  to  him  the  elosiug 
scene  in  the  unhappy  drama  of  their  married  life. 
Incidentally  he  learned,  some  weeks  later,  that  she 
had  left  Arden ;  but  where  she  had  gone  was  not 
tatecl,  and  he  asked  no  questions.  His  own  slops, 
from  the  houi  of  this  unfortunate  event,  were  in  a 
downward  path.  Judge  Gray  soon  drew  him  en 
tirely  within  his  influence,  and  this  influence  was 
for  evil,  not  good. 

Under  the  wise,  unselfish  care  of  Mrs.  Lamb  an 
other  spirit  began  to  pervade  the  household  of  Mr. 
Eldridge ;  and  his  children,  from  being  quarrelsome 
and  ungovernable,  soon  manifested  opposite  tem 
pers,  and  showed  themselves  orderly  and  quiet  at 
all  times  when  their  father  was  at  home.  But  it 
needed  a  different  and  stronger  attraction  than 
simply  quiet  children  to  hold  back  Mr.  Eldridge 
from  the  allurements  that  now  invited  him  abroad 
on  each  successive  evening.  He  had  a  home, 
but  no  heart-companion,  —  no  one  to  watch  and 
wait  for  him  when  absent  or  to  welcome  his  return. 
He  came  in  and  went  out  at  will,  with  a  feeling 
that  no  one  thought  of  him  while  away  or  felt 
nappier  at  his  coming.  No;  this  is  speaking  too 
strongly.  We  had  almost  forgotten  Katy,  the  little 
injured  one,  and  the  new  love  that  had  sprung  up 
between  her  and  her  father.  Steadily  burned  this 
flame.  How  the  child's  face  would  brighten  at  the 
sound  of  her  father's  voice  or  the  echo  of  his  return 
ing  footsteps !  His  night  and  morning  kiss  was  a 
joy  to  her.  Toward  the  child  his  feelings  were  of 


O  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO 

the  tenclerest  character;  and  often  he  sat  by  the  bod 
on  which  she  lay,  holding  her  little  hand,  when,  but 
for  the  bond  between  them,  he  would  have  been 
away  from  his  home.  But  not  strong  enough  was 
this  bond  to  hold  him  back  from  temptation.  There 
was  needed  a  stronger  power  than  this. 

Time  moved  on,  and  Katy  gradually  recovered 
from  the  serious  injury  she  had  sustained,  and  was 
able  first  to  sit  up  a  little,  then  to  move  through  the 
room,  and  finally  to  go  over  the  house  with  little  or 
no  assistance.  But  she  was  sadly  deformed  and 
dwarfed,  and  the  natural  beauty  of  her  countenance 
was  gone  forever.  Daily  the  childish  features  grew 
more  and  more  pinched.  The  blossoms  returned 
not  to  her  wan  cheeks,  nor  the  ruby  to  her  lips.  It 
made  the  heart  ache  to  look  at  her.  No  one  could 
have  recognised  in  the  quiet  little  hunchbacked  girl 
sitting,  with  a  pensive  face,  in  the  door  of  her  fa 
ther's  dwelling,  the  wild,  dancing,  noisy,  passionate 
romp  who  made  all  things  alive  around  her  a^  few 
months  before. 

Everybody  felt  kindly  and  acted  kindly  toward 
little  Katy.  Even  her  brothers,  with  whom  she  had 
Jived  in  contention  almost  from  her  birth,  no  longer 
felt  any  antagonism  toward  her,  but  emulated  each 
other  in  friendly  offices.  They  amused  her  with 
their  playthings,  read  to  her  little  stories  out  of 
books,  and  shared  with  her  the  dainties  they  hap 
pened  to  receive. 

The  kind  Mrs.  Lamb  still  remained  in  the  family 
of  Mr.  Eldridge ;  and  it  was  mainly  her  influence — 


DRIVEN   TO   THE   WALL.  241 

ai  led,  of  course,  by  the  change  in  little  Katy — that 
\\  orked  such  a  revolution.  She  was  mild,  gentle, 
fvmpathizing,  but  firm ;  and  the  children  fouud 
il  emselves  far  happier  in  obeying  her  rules  than  in 
following  the  impulses  of  a  natural  wilful  ness. 

Scarcely  a  year  had  passed  since  the  fatal  quarrel 
wnth  his  wife,  before  it  was  apparent  to  every  one  iu 
A  rden  that  Mr.  Eldridge  was  moving  with  rapid  feet 
in  the  path  that  leads  to  ruin.  Not  a  single  evening 
was  spent  at  home  ;  and  it  rarely  happened  that  he 
came  in  until  past  the  hour  of  midnight.  He  was 
as  much  changed  in  appearance  as  in  life ;  for  the 
dissolute  course  he  was  leading  left  its  disfiguring 
marks  on  his  countenance.  Gradually  his  best 
practice  began  to  leave  him ;  for,  through  want  of 
attention  or  from  a  confused  intellect,  the  conse 
quence  of  his  habits,  he  lost  two  or  three  important 
cases  where  justice  and  law  were  both  on  his  side. 
But  there  were  causes  at  work  of  more  rapid  execu 
tion  than  even  a  dissolute  life,  destined  in  a  very 
little  while  to  bear  him  down  and  sweep  from  his 
possession  every  vestige  of  property  he  had  acquired 
by  years  of  industry  and  prudence. 

Craig  had  fastened  himself  upon  him  like  a  vam- 
jire,  and  with  no  intention  of  letting  go  his  hold 
vvl.ile  there  was  a  dollar  left  to  win.  He  had  studied 
his  victim  with  a  carefulness  that  gave  him  lull 
knosvledge  of  all  his  weak  points  of  character,  and 
now  he  was  almost  entirely  within  his  power.  Step 
by  step,  step  by  step,  he  led  him  downward,  and 
dollar  by  dollar  he  exhausted  his  substance,  and  yet 

21 


242  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO  ' 

so  managed  it  that  Eldridge  always  sought  him, 
and,  in  most  cases,  proposed  the  trial  of  skill. 
Judge  Gray  maintained  a  more  dignified  attitude 
towa-d  the  infatuated  man,  and,  when  he  met  him 
at  th.j  card-table,  generally  contrived  to  be  the  loser, 
bough  never  for  sums  of  any  importance.  Thus  he 
managed  to  keep  the  suspicions  of  Eldridge  quiet 
as  to  any  complicity  he  might  have  in  his  ruin.  lie 
always  stood  his  friend  if  he  wanted  money,  but 
never  accommodated  him  without  security  and  a 
consideration ;  so  that,  in  time,  Judge  Gray  had  his 
hand  upon  all  the  property  the  lawyer  possessed, 
and  could  wrench  it  from  him  at  any  moment  he 
felt  inclined  to  do  so.  And  the  inclination  was  not 
wanting.  In  his  own  good  time  Judge  Gray  would 
act,  and  that  without  mercy. 

The  land  scheme  had  fallen  through,  apparently 
in  consequence  of  the  owner  of  the  mill  property 
not  caring  to  sell,  but  really  because  Judge  Gray 
had  never  intended  that  the  action  of  the  company 
should  proceed  as  far  as  the  proposed  purchase.  The 
railroad  scheme  must,  he  knew,  be  defeated,  at  the 
next  session  of  the  Legislature, — as  it  was;  the  whole 
affair  having  been  projected  by  certain  political 
gamblers  to  serve  personal  ends,  and  not  having  in 
il  any  value  whatever  as  a  measure  of  public  in 
terest.  Other  tempting  speculations  were  proposed 
aiui  plans  for  working  them  out  digested;  but  it 
always  happened  that  between  the  inception  of  ihe 
scheme  and  its  execution  unexpected  circum stances 
interposed  which  took  the  shape  of  insurmountable 


PRIVEN   TO   THE   WALL.  243 

difficulties.  Somehow  it  always  happened  tl.at  the 
judge  was  the  only  party  in  the  case  who  reaped 
Eny  advantage ;  and  the  real  advantage  gained  by 
him  was  by  no  means  always  apparent.  Tie  was  too 
"long-headed"  for  even  the  sharpest  men  of  Arden, 
and  bent  most  of  those  to  his  will  who  came  into 
intimate  association  with  him. 

"  Let  me  have  two  hundred  dollars,  judge,"  said 
Eldridge,  entering  hurriedly  the  office  of  Judge 
Gray,  a  little  over  a  year  from  the  time  his  rapid 
descent  began. 

The  judge  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  replied,— 

"Haven't  got  fifty  to  bless  myself  with." 

"  I  must  have  it,  judge  !"    Eldridge  grew  excited. 

"Can't  get  it  here:  that's  certain."  The  judge 
appeared  unusually  serious.  "The  fact  is,  you've 
drained  me  out." 

"  Me  ?"     Eldridge  looked  surprised. 

"  Yes ;  you  !  Haven't  I  met  nearly  all  your  de 
mands  lor  money,  reasonable  or  unreasonable?  But 
there  is  a  point  where  even  friendship  becomes 
powerless  to  serve." 

"You  are  fully  secured."  Eldridge  spoke  with 
some  warmth  and  a  little  indignation. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Judge  Gray. 
"But  there  is  one  thing  very  certain,  Mr.  Eldridge: 
I  must  realize  on  some  of  these  securities  unless 
you  can  take  them  up." 

"  You  must?"  Eldridge  had  been  drinking  rather 
more  freely  than  usual,  and  was  not  therefore  in  a 
state  to  meet  this  unexpected  aspect  of  affairs. 


244  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

Something  of  defiance  was  now  added  to  his  indig 
nation. 

"  I  have  said  so.  Mr  Eldridge,  and  my  words 
rarely  'nave  a  double  meaning.  I  have  considerable 
sums  of  money  to  raise,  and  must  raise  them  on  my 
securities;  for  all  my  available  means  are  loaned 
out  on  securities."  Judge  Gray  spoke  firmly,  like 
a  man  who  felt  altogether  in  earnest ;  and,  confused 
as  the  mind  of  Eldridge  was,  he  received  this  dis 
tinct  impression.  To  a  certain  extent  he  was  so 
bered,  and  became  altogether  so  when  Judge  Gray 
added, — 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  excitement,  Mr.  El 
dridge,  about  this  matter :  none  in  the  least.  It  is 
a  plain  business  affair.  You  borrowed  my  money, 
did  you  not?" 

"  Yes." 

"And,  among  other  securities,  you  gave  me  a 
mortgage  on  your  house  ?" 

"Idid." 

"  Why.  did  you  give  this  mortgage  ?" 

"To  make  you  safe." 

"  Precisely.  But  was  there  nothing  intended  be 
yond  the  mere  making  safe  ?" 

"What  more  was  intended  ?"  asked  Eldridge. 

"  Clearly,  that  in  case  you  could  not  return  my 
money  when  I  needed  it  the  means  of  realization 
would  be  in  my  hands.  Was  not  this  so  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly."  The  admission  was  not  made 
heartily. 

"Very  well.     The   time  has   come  when  I  am 


DRIVEN  TO  THE  WALL.  245 

compelled  to  realize ;  and  now  I  ask  you  what  is  to 
be  done." 

Eldridge  offered  no  reply,  but  sat  like  a  man  stu 
pefied,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  floor. 

"I  am  of  course  inclined  to  make  every  thing  aa 
?asy  for  you  as  possible,  unless  you  throw  obstacles 
.n  my  way." 

"  Why  should  I  do  that,  judge?"  Eldridge  seemed 
hurt  by  the  intimation. 

"There  is  no  good  reason  why  you  should  do  so, 
for  the  case  is  a  very  clear  one.  At  what  do  yon 
value  your  house  ?" 

"  It  is  worth  every  dollar  of  five  thousand." 

Judge  Gray  shook  his  head. 

"It  would  not  bring  my  mortgage  under  the 
hammer." 

"  Four  thousand  dollars  ?" 

"No." 

"  That  would  depend  on  circumstances.  I've  been 
offered  four  thousand  five  hundred  over  and  over 
again." 

"By  whom?" 

"  By  two  or  three  parties." 

"Let  me  advise  you  to  sell,  then,"  said  the  judge. 
"  I  wouldn't  give  a  dollar  over  four  thousand  if  I 
was  in  the  market  as  a  purchaser." 

"I  don't  care  about  selling  even  at  five  thou- 
Band,"  replied  Eldridge.  "  In  a  few  years  it  will  be 
worth  six  or  seven,  if  property  continues  to  rise  in 
value  at  the  present  ratio  of  advance." 

"  You  overestimate  its  worth  altogether,"  said 
21* 


246  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN  DO? 

Judge  Gray.  "But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 
A  thing  is  worth  what  it  will  sell  for,  and  not  a  far 
thing  more,  as  you  and  I  well  know  and  have  de 
monstrated  a  hundred  times  in  our  lives.  All  value 
beyond  that  is  merely  an  ideal  one  and  a  fiction,  so 
far  as  practical  purposes  are  concerned." 

"What  do  you  propose  doing?"  inquired  El- 
dridge,  after  a  few  moments  of  hurried  thinking. 
His  thoughts  were  not  very  clear. 

"  The  best  I  can  under  the  circumstances." 

"  You  will  not  enter  up  that  mortgage  ?" 

"I  must  do  it,  unless  you  can  raise  me  the  four 
thousand  dollars  it  represents." 

"  But  that  is  impossible,  judge  !" 

"I'm  sorry." 

"Judge  Gray,  I  did  not  expect  this  of  you !" 

"  Necessity  knows  no  law,  my  friend.  But  why 
(his  excitement?  One  so  familiar  with  legal  matters 
and  their  practical  operation  as  you  should  hardly 
bo  surprised  at  the  entering  up  of  an  unsatisfied 
mortgage.  It  is  but  the  ordinary  course  of  things, — 
an  every-day  transaction.  The  real  aspect  of  the 
case  is  not  altered  because  the  result  happens  to 
Dear  hard  upon  you.  Such  things  always  bear  hard 
upon  somebody. 

Eldridge  was  struck  down  into  silence. 

"  What  more  have  you  to  say  ?"  The  judge  spoke 
with  almost  icy  coldness. 

"Nothing,"  was  the  simple  answer. 

"  Will  you  endeavor  to  raise  the  money  and  pay 
off  the  mortgage?" 


DRIVEN   TO    THE   WALL.  24T 

"No.     The  effort  would  be  fruitless." 

"  I'm  sorry.  But  my  case  admits  of  neither  tem 
porizing  nor  hesitation.  I  must  sell  if  you  cannot 
satisfy  the  mortgage." 

"You  have  other  mortgages  and  securities  besidei 
this  one,  Judge  Gray,"  said  Eldridge,  arousing  him 
self.  "Why  then  seek  to  ruin  me,  when  all  you 
wish  for  may  be  gained  at  some  other  point?" 

""Ruin  you!"  The  eyes  of  Judge  Gray  flashed, 
and  his  tone  was  indignant.  "  "What  do  you  mean 
oy  the  insinuation  ?" 

"  I  can  see  nothing  less  in  your  threatened  course 
of  action  than  a  purpose  to  ruin  me,"  said  Eldridge. 
"Why  is  this  mine  sprung  upon  me  so  suddenly 
and  when  there  is  no  way  of  escape?" 

"  Take  care,  sir,  what  you  say !  If  you  make  the 
slightest  impeachment  of  my  honor  you'll  repent  it 
but  once."  The  face  of  Judge  Gray,  usually  so  im 
perturbable,  was  now  flushed  with  anger. 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  can  hurt  me  in  any  thing 
beyond  what  is  already  purposed,"  said  Eldridge, 
coldly.  "And,  as  to  impeaching  your  honor,  no  one 
can  do  that  but  yourself.  To  call  a  man  dishonor 
able  does  not  make  him  so.  It  is  the  dishonorable 
purpose  that  gives  quality  to  his  life." 

The  judge  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  and,  with 
a  look  of  disgust  on  his  features, — 

"  Don't  rend  me  any  of  your  stale  homilies,"  he 

n.i.  MUH-ring  as  he  spoke.  "When  I  wish  to  hear 
u  scnnon  I'll  go  to  church." 

"Then    do   your   worst!"    ejaculated    Eldridge, 


248  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

stung  by  the  manner  and  tone  of  the  judge  even 
more  than  by  his  words.  "  I  have  been  a  blind  fool ! 
Bat  my  eyes  are  opened  at  last.  Perhaps  I  am  not 
as  powerless  in  your  hands  as  you  may  think.  We 
shall  see.  "When  a  man  is  driven  to  the  wall  he 
sometimes  fights  with  a  desperation  that  surprises 
his  antagonist.  I  shall  not  yield  without  a  struggle, 
depend  on't.  You  can  make  up  your  mind  to 
that." 

"  See  hero,  Eldridge !"  There  was  a  fierce  pur 
pose  in  the  aspect  of  the  judge  that  subdued  in  a 
measure  his  companion's  excitement.  "I  warn  you 
not  to  go  any  further  in  this  direction ;  for  if  you 
make  me  your  enemy  I'll  pursue  you  to  the  death ! 
My  hate  is  as  strong  as  my  friendship." 

"In  that  case  your  enemies  have  little  to  fear," 
was  Eldridge's  contemptuous  answer.  "But  it  ia 
useless  to  bandy  words  with  you.  Good-day,  sir  !" 

Eldridge  turned  off  abruptly,  and  left  the  office 
of  Judge  Gray,  who  fairly  gnashed  his  teeth  after 
him. 

"There's  no  atonement  for  that !"  said  he,  fiercely. 
"  Driven  to  the  wall,  and  at  bay  ?  Pah  I  I  ca  i  ci  uab 
him  at  a  single  blow ;  and — I'll  do  it  / ' 


THE    CRISIS.  249 


CHAPTER  XXVHL 

THE   CRISIS. 

JtJD<3E  GRAY  did  not  find  it  such  easy  work  as  ho 
supposed  it  would  be  to  execute  his  purpose  toward 
Eldridge.  The  lawyer  understood  thoroughly  his 
craft,  and  knew  all  the  quirks  and  shifts  required  to 
foil,  at  least  for  a  time,  his  antagonist.  The  entering 
up  of  a  mortgage  is  usually  a  very  straightforward 
and  somewhat  brief  process.  It  did  not  prove  so  in 
the  present  instance.  Certain  informalities  were 
alleged,  which  caused  a  stay  of  proceedings,  leading 
to  other  perplexing  delays,  all  of  which  chafed  the 
judge  terribly,  and  filled  his  heart  with  a  more  bittei 
enmity  toward  the  man  in  whose  ruin  he  had  been 
a  secret  accomplice. 

But  Eldridge  was,  for  all  his  struggles,  hopelessly 
in  the  power  of  Judge  Gray,  and  his  utter  prostra 
tion  was  only  a  question  of  time.  Before  a  twelve 
month  passed,  every  vestige  of  property  was  swept 
from  his  hands,  and  he  went  forth  from  the  homo  in 
which  his  children  were  born  and  sought  a  shelter 

o 

for  them  in  hired  lodgings.    At  this  point  Mrs.  Lamb 
eepa-ated  from  him.     She  had  become  stronglv  ;it 
tached   to  Katy,  whose  almost   helpless   condition 
drew  largely  upon  her  womanly  sympathies;  and,  at 
her  request,  the  little  girl  was  taken  from  her  fatKei 


250  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN  DO? 

and  brothers  and  removed  to  the  home  of  this  second 
mother. 

Left  pretty  much  to  their  own  wills  in  a  boarding- 
house,  the  two  sons  of  Mr.  Eldridge  relapsed  into 
their  rid  disorderly  states,  and  not  many  months 
went  by  before  they  had  made  themselves  so  disagree 
able  to  ail  the  family  that  their  father  was  desired 
to  rainove  them.  Incensed  at  this,  he  determined 
to  "put  them  out"  to  work,  as  the  best  thing  that 
could  be  done;  thus  ridding  himself  of  the  trouble 
of  their  presence  and  the  burden  of  their  support. 
And  so  deadened  by  this  time  had  become  his  na 
tural  affections,  that  no  struggle  with  his  feelings 
was  required  in  gaining  consent  to  the  measure  of 
sending  out  to  hard  service  two  little  boys  of  the 
ages  of  ten  and  twelve  years. 

No  great  difficulty  was  found  in  obtaining  places 
for  William  and  Jacob  with  farmers  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Arden ;  and  the  little  boys  were  separated 
and  sent  forth  into  the  world  alone,  while  the  father, 
drowning  daily  in  strong  drink  the  smarting  con 
sciousness  of  degradation  that  gave  bitterness  to 
every  sober  moment  of  his  life,  moved  steadily  for- 
vrard  on  his  downward  way. 

Only  one  attraction  for  the  heart  of  Morgan  '31- 
dridge  remained;  only  one  thought  softened  his 
feeling*;  only  one  image  lightened  up  with  its  pre 
sence  the  gloom}'  chambers  of  his  spirit.  The 
thought  and  image  were  of  little  Katy,  toward  whom 
the  tide  of  love  had  flowed  on  with  a  steady  current 
from  the  hour  it  lirst  set  in  that  direction.  At  the 


THE   CRISIS.  251 

close  of  every  day  he  went  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Lamt 
to  see  his  child,  whose  pale  face  always  grew  warm 
with  love  at  his  coming.  The  only  tiling  that 
troubled  him  with  regard  to  the  disposition  made 
of  Jacob  aud  William  was  Katy's  grief  about  her 
br others.  As  best  he  could  did  he  soothe  her  feel 
ings,  even  deceiving  her  in  regard  to  their  real  posi 
tions,  and  picturing  .hem  to  her  as  leading  pleasant 
lives  in  the  country,  when  they  were  at  hard  service 
and  neglected,  even  if  not  treated  with  positive 
cruelty.  But  he  found  the  task  of  reconciling  her 
to  the  change  a  hard  one ;  and  she  continued  to 
grieve  for  her  brothers,  and  neVer  saw  her  father 
without  making  some  reference  to  or  inquiry  about 
them. 

Step  by  step  did  Mr.  Eldridge  move  on  in  the 
downward  way.  Habit  steadily  acquired  strength 
and  almost  daily  brought  into  subjection  some  yet 
struggling  but  feebie  remnant  of  moral  power.  One 
friend  after  another  receded  from  him,  and  his  cases 
gradually  diminished  in  number  and  importance, 
until,  from  having  the  best  practice  in  Arden,  ho 
came  to  be  regarded  as  the  most  undesirable  lawyer 
in  the  whole  county. 

Rapidly,  very  rapidly,  did  Mr.  Eldridge  fall  to  a 
certain  point.  Th<  re  he  revolved  for  years  in  a  circle 
of  degradation,  that  closed  toward  the  centre  in 
spirals  so  small  that  the  approach  to  final  ruin  of 
body  and  soul  was  hardly  perceptible.  Occasionally 
he  appeared  in  the  court-house,  to  argue  some  un 
important  case  intrusted  to  his  care  by  some  poor  or 


252  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

half-indifferent  client.  The  result  very  often  de 
pended  on  his  state  of  inebriation  :  if  his  intellect 
was  not  too  much  obscured,  and  there  was  good 
material  in  his  case,  he  generally  gained  the  de 
cision. 

The  income  of  Mr.  Eldridge  was,  as  may  be  sup 
posed,  small  under  these  circumstances.  Most  of 
it  was  spent  for  the  poison  that  burns  up  the  life- 
blood  of  its  victims.  But,  out  of  himself,  degraded 
as  he  was  and  enslaved  to  appetite,  there  was  one 
object  Tor  which  he  felt  solicitude  and  for  which  he 
was  always  ready  to  make  some  small  sacrifice. 
That  object  was  his  deformed  child.  No  day  passed 
without  his  seeing  Katy,  if  it  was  only  for  a  few 
minutes  at  a  time ;  and  almost  always  he  brought 
her  something  as  a  .token  of  his  love.  It  was  a 
touching  sight  to  see  them  together ;  and  the  more 
so  as  Katy  grew  older  and  her  mind  came  into  a 
more  distinct  perception  of  her  father's  true  con 
dition. 

At  ten  years  of  age — nearly  four  years  since  the 
accident  to  Katy — the  little  girl  had  become  almost 
a  woman  in  her  thoughtful  care  over  her  father, 
who  still  came  daily  to  see  her,  but  now,  most  of  hi  3 
Sime,  with  all  his  senses  obscured.  One  afternoon 
Katy  was  sitting  in  the  door,  watching,  as  was  her 
custom,  for  her  father,  when  she  saw  him  a  short 
distance  -way,  moving  along  with  steps  unsteadier 
than  usual.  As  he  came  nearer,  she  could  see  a 
great  red  spot  that  covered  half  of  his  face. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Lamb,"  she  cried,  running  back  into 


THE   CRISIS.  253 

the  house,  "  do  come  here  and  see  what  is  the  mat 
ter  with  father!" 

The  child's  white  face  and  quivering  voice  startled 
the  good  lady,  and,  dropping  her  work,  Mrs.  Lamb 
came  hurriedly  to  the  front  door. 

"Bless  us!"  she  exclaimed,  the  moment  her  eyer. 
rested  on  the  form  of  the  poor  inebriate ;  "  it's 
blood  !  "What  can  have  happened  to  him  ?" 

At  the  word  "blood"  little  Katy  grew  faint  and 
Daggered  backward,  sinking  upon  the  door-step. 
All  her  bodily  strength  failed  in  an  instant. 

"He's  fallen  and  hart  himself,  I  suppose."  Mrs. 
Lamb  uttered  her  thoughts  aloud.  "Dear!  dear! 
he's  getting  so  that  he's  not  fit  to  go  about  alone ! 
He'll  be  killed  outright  some  of  these  times,  I'm 
afraid." 

The  truth  of  her  father's  really  helpless  condition 
flashed  upon  Katy,  and  a  strong,  womanly  purpose 
was  instantly  formed  in  her  mind,  giving  her  heart 
a  new  impulse,  and  sending  the  almost-curdling 
blood  forth  again  +o  the  farthest  extremities  of  her 
body.  Strength  came  back  to  her  limbs;  and,  rising 
up  quickly,  she  ran  forward  to  meet  her  father,  down 
whose  face  the  blood  was  flowing  from  a  frightful 
gush  on  the  side  of  his  forehead.  Katy  seized  l.is 
hand,  and,  holding  it  firmly,  steadied  his  steps,  arid 
led  him  forward  toward  the  house,  the  great  tears 
rolling  down  her  pale  face  and  dropping  upon  tho 
ground. 

"How  did  this  happen,  Mr. Eldridge ?"  said  Mrs. 


254  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

Lamb,  when  the  father  and  child  reached  the  dooi 
where  she  stood. 

3  Jut  the  mind  of  Eldridge  was  in  too  great  ob 
scurity  to  comprehend  fully  the  question,  much  lesa 
to  give  an  intelligible  answer.  Mrs,  Lamb  took  him 
into  her  house  and  washed  the  blood  from  his  face ; 
but  it  continued  to  flow  from  the  large  wound  in  hia 
forehead,  which  penetrated  to  the  bone. 

"Run  over  for  Dr.  Penrose,"  said  Mrs.  Lamb  to 
Katy,  seeing  that  she  could  not  check  the  flow  of 
blood ;  and  the  child  started  off,  with  a  new  fear  in 
her  heart. 

A  few  minutes  before,  as  Dr.  Penrose  came  past 
the  tavern  known  as  McQuillan's,  he  noticed  a  small 
group  of  persons  just  in  front  of  the  house,  who 
were  talking  in  an  excited  manner. 

"  It's  a  shame !"  one  of  them  said,  speaking  in  a 
very  indignant  tone  of  voice. 

"Let  him  bridle  his  foul  tongue,  then,"  retorted, 
angrily,  another  individual,  in  whom  the  doctor  re 
cognised  Mr.  Craig ;  "  if  he  don't  I'll  be  the  death 
of  him !" 

The  doctor  crossed  over  to  ascertain  the  cause  of 
disturbance. 

"  He  was  drunk,  and  you  shouldn't  have  weighed 
bis  words  as  accurately  as  the  words  of  sober  men." 

"Drunk  or  sober,  no  man  shall  use  the  language 
he  did,  and  escape  punishment, — miserable,  drunken 
vagabond !" 

"  He  was  just  as  severe  on  Judge  Gray,"  was  re 
marked. 


THE   CRISIS.  255 

"Judge  Gray  is  competent  to  take  care  of  his 
own  reputation  in  his  own  way,  and  so  am  I.  My  way 
has  in  it,  perhaps,  less  of  tardiness  or  circumlocution.' 

"You've  injured  him  badly,  I'm  afraid.  There 
was  a  terrible  gash  on  the  poor  man's  face  where  it 
struck  the  horseblock." 

"It  will  teach  him  better  manners  in  future,"  re 
torted  Craig,  fiercely. 

"Of  whom  are  they  speaking?"  asked  Dr.  Pen- 
rose,  addressing  one  of  the  company. 

"  Of  that  poor,  drunken  creature,  Eldridge.  He'a 
got  some  grudge  against  Craig,  and  abuses  him  right 
and  left  if  he  happens  to  meet  him  when  in  liquor. 
He  went  at  him,  as  usual,  just  now,  and  Craig, 
losing  all  patience,  pitched  him  off  the  porch  and 
hurt  him  rather  badly.  It  was  a  cruel  thing !" 

"Where  is  he  ?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"  He  went  staggering  up  the  street  as  soon  as  he 
was  lifted  from  the  ground,  his  face  covered  with 
dust  and  blood." 

"How  long  since  this  happened?" 

"  Only  a  few  minutes  ago.  He  is  hardly  out  of 
sight." 

Dr.  Penrose  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  walked 
>fi"  rapidly,  in  the  hope  of  overtaking  the  injured 
man,  in  whom,  debased  as  he  was,  he  had  never 
lost  his  interest.  He  had  gone  nearly  as  far  as  the 
residence  of  Mrs.  Lamb,  when  he  met  Katy  hurry, 
ing  along  as  fast  as  her  little  feet  would  carry  her. 

"  Oh,  doctor !"  she  exclaimed,  seizing  hold  of  his 
hand,  "do  come,  quick,  to  father!' 


WHAT    CAN    "WOMAN    DO? 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  Dr.  Penrose. 

"  He's  at  our  house,"  replied  the  child.  "Oh,  do 
.ome  !  His  face  is  all  bloody  !" 

Tears  almost  rained  over  the  face  of  the  child. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  dear,"  said  the  doctor;  "I'll 
Boon  make  him  well  again."  He  spoke  in  a  cheer 
ful,  encouraging  voice,  and  led  the  tearful  Katy  back 
tr  the  house  of  Mrs.  Lamb. 

A  few  stitches  brought  the  edges  of  the  cut  to 
gether,  and  a  few  strips  of  adhesive  plaster  covered 
the  wound  and  retained  the  skin  in  its  place.  The 
blood  ceased  to  flow,  and  all  the  more  alarming  fea 
tures  of  the  case  were  removed. 

"I  think  he  had  better  remain  here  to-night," 
said  the  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Lamb. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well.  The  fall  and 
wound  have  shocked  his  system  more,  perhaps,  than 
can  now  be  determined.  He  hasn't  much  strength 
remaining  at  best,  poor  man  !" 

This  determined  upon,  the  doctor  assisted  Mr. 
Eld  ridge  up-stairs  to  one  of  the  chambers,  and, 
after  seeing  him  in  bed  for  the  night,  went  away. 

After  the  doctor  left,  Katy  took  her  place  beside 
the  bed  on  which  her  father  lay,  and  did  not  leave 
her  position  until  long  after  the  usual  hour  of  re 
tiring.  In  the  morning  she  was  up  and  dressed  and 
in  his  room  by  daylight.  She  found  him  awake  and 
in  considerable  bewilderment  of  mind. 

"Why,  Katy,  child,  is  that  you?  Where  am  I? 
What  has  happened  ?"  he  said,  in  an  earnest  way, 
rising  up  and  looking  curiously  about  the  room. 


THE    CRISIS  257 

f- Oh,  father,  you've  been  hurt,"  said  KatjT.  "You 
eanie  here  yesterday  afternoon  with  your  face  all  cut 
and  bloody,  and  frightened  us,  oh,  so  dreadfully! 
The  doctor  came  and  sewed  up  the  place,  just  there 
on  your  forehead,  and  said  we  had  better  keep  you 
here  all  night.  Now,  don't  get  up,  father !  It's 
only  just  morning,  and  the  sun  hasn't  risen  yet." 

"But  I  must!  I  must !  I  can't  stay  here,  child  !" 
auswered  Mr.  Eldridge,  in  a  nervous  way,  as  he 
nade  a  movement  to  leave  the  bed. 

In  spite  of  all  that  Katy  could  do,  her  father 
would  get  up  and  dress  himself.  She  had  never 
soen  him  with  all  his  nervous  sj^stem  unstrung  as  it 
then. was;  and  his  trembling — almost  palsied — hands 
and  uncertain  groping  movements  frightened  her. 
liunning  to  Mrs.  Lamb,  who  was  already  up  and 
making  some  preparations  for  breakfast,  she  ex 
claimed, — 

"  Oh,  dear !  I  wish  you'd  come  to  father !  I  don't 
know  what's  the  matter  with  him  !  He  will  get  up 
and  dress  himself,  and  he's  shaking  all  over.  Oh, 
dear!  Oh,  dear!"  And  the  child  wrung  her  ha.ids. 

Mrs.  Lamb  went,  as  Katy  desired.  She  under 
stood  much  better  what  ailed  the  poor  man.  The 
artificial  stimulant  which  had  supplied  so  large  a 
portion  of  nervous  activity  had  become  exhausted, 
and,  until  this  was  restored,  the  tension  of  his 
muscles  was  gone. 

"Mr.  Eldridge,''  said  Mrs.  Lamb,  firmly,  taking 
lold  of  him  as  she  spoke,  "you  must  lie  down  again, 
i  ou  were  hurt  badly  last  night,  and  it  has  weakened 

22* 


258  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO  ? 

ou.     I'll  make  you  a  strong  cup  of  coffee  right- 
away.     You'll  feel  better  after  drinking  it." 

The  decided  way  in  which  this  was  spoken  had  \ta 
influence.  Eldridge  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn 
t.xvard  the  bed,  on  which  he  lay  down  again. 

"I'll  send  the  coffee  up  by  Katy  in  a  few  minutes," 
<jai  1  Mrs.  Lamb,  as  she  left  the  room.  "Now,  don't 
attempt  to  rise  until  you  get  it."  Then,  speaking 
to  Katy,  "I'll  call  you  when  it's  ready." 

The  promise  of  a  strong  cup  of  coffee  was  sum' 
cient  to  make  Eldridge  remain  where  he  was.  Some 
kind  of  stimulant  he  must  have,  for  the  condition  in 
which  he  found  himself  was  intolerable. 

When  the  coffee  was  at  length  brought  by  Katy, 
his  hand  proved  too  unsteady  to  bear  the  cup  to  his 
eager  lips.  Two  or  three  attempts  only  resulted  in 
spilling  a  portion  of  the  hot  fluid  upon  his  clothes 
and  the  bed. 

"Do,  child,  hold  it  for  me  !"  he  said,  a  little  impa 
tiently. 

Katy  took  the  cup  from  his  hand  and  held  it  to 
his  lips.  The  contents  were  swallowed  at  a  single 
draught. 

;'  Oh,  dear !  isn't  this  dreadful  ?"  Eldridge  spoke 
•A)  himself  in  a  kind  of  despairing  voice  as  he  fell 
back  upon  the  bed. 

"What  is  dreadful,  father?"  asked  Katy.  The 
words  had  startled  vague  thoughts  in  her  mind,  that 
brought  new  perceptions  touching  her  father's  real 
condition. 

"What    is    dreadful?"      Eldridge    repeated    the 


THE   CRISIS.  5 

words  in  a  kind  of  surprised  way,  raising  himself 
on  his  elbow,  and  looking,  with  a  singular  expres 
sion  of  countenance,  into  the  face  of  Katy.  "  What 
is  dreadful  ?  Do  you  see  that?"  And  he  held  up 
his  hand,  that  shook  like  the  quivering  aspen. 

'•Isn't  that  dreadful?"  said  he,  almost  paB- 
eionately. 

"Oh,  father!"  It  was  all  that  Katy  could  utter, 
for  his  manner  bewildered  as  well  as  frightened 
her. 

"Isn't  that  dreadful,  child?"  he  went  on,  in  a  wild 
way.  "  Look  at  my  hand !  See  how  it  trembles ! 
It  is  so  every  morning,  Katy.  Coffee  won't  steady 
it,  child.  I  must  have  something  more  than 
that." 

And  he  sat  up  on  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"  Get  me  my  hat  and  coat,  dear.  I  must  have 
medicine  for  this."  The  voice  of  Mr.  Eldridge  had 
assumed  a  resolute  tone. 

"  I'll  go  for  Dr.  Penrose.  He'll  give  you  medi 
cine,"  said  Katy,  starting  toward  the  door;  and, 
without  waiting  for  her  father's  reply  or  stopping  to 
consult  Mrs.  Lamb,  she  ran  down-stairs,  out  of  the 
house,  and  toward  the  doctor's  office,  which  was  not 
far  distant.  The  doctor  happened  to  be  standing  in 
his  door  when  the  child  came  in  sight.  Without 
waiting  for  her  to  reach  him,  he  started  forward, 
and,  on  meeting  her,  said, — 

"What's  the  matter  now,  Katy?  How  is  you* 
father?" 

"  Oh,  doctor !  do  come,  won't  you  ?    He's  shaking 


l!60  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

all  over  so  dreadfully,  and  says  he  must  go  out  and 
get  medicine !" 

The  doctor  took  the  child's  hand,  without  replying 
in  any  way  to  the  communication,  and  hurried  ou 
toward  the  house  of  Mrs.  Lamb.  Just  inside  of  the 
door  lie  found  the  wretched  man,  partly  dressed, 
and  contending  with  Mrs.  Lamh,  who  had  hold  of 
him.  He  was  resolutely  bent  on  going  out.  At 
eight  of  the  doctor  he  gave  up  all  resistance. 

"'Come,  Mr. Eldridge,"  said  Dr. Penrose,  firmly, 
as  he  took  hold  of  his  arm,  "you  must  go  back  to 
your  room.  You  are  sick,  and  cannot  go  out  to- 
day." 

Eldridge  yielded,  and  went  back  half  of  the  length 
of  the  passage  toward  the  stairway.  But  he  sud 
denly  stopped,  and,  stretching  out  his  arm,  said,  in 
a  wild,  eager  manner, — 

"Do  you  see  that,  doctor?" 

The  arm  shook  with  a  nervous  tremor. 

"Yes,  indeed;  I  do  see  it,"  replied  the  doctor, 
speaking  with  the  concern  he  felt. 

•'And  you  know  what  it  means  as  well  as  I  do, 
doctor,  and  what  I  must  have,"  said  Eldridge.  '-Pir 
in  a  bad  way." 

"  The  first  thing  is  to  get  back  into  your  bed," 
peas  the  doctor's  reply  to  this. 

"  I  must  have  brandy,  doctor !  Nothing  else  will 
do.  Will  you  give  me  some  brandy?" 

"  Yes ;  a  small  portion, — -just  enough  to  steady 
your  nerves,"  replied  Dr.  Penrose. 

Eldridge  made  no  further  resistance,  but  suffered 


THE    PROTECTING    ANGEL.  261 

himself  to  be  taken  up-stairs  and  to  bed.  A  very 
email  portion  of  brandy,  and  that  considerably  di 
luted,  was  given  at  brief  intervals.  This  treatment 
was  in  part  to  satisfy  the  patient.  The  chief  remedy 
in  the  case  was  morphine,  and  that  was  administered 
in  gradually-increasing  quantities  for  many  hours, 
before  the  terrible  waking  dreams  that  soon  began 
to  infest  the  imagination  of  the  wretched  man  were 
lost  in  the  deep  sleep  of  unconsciousness. 

We  will  not  linger  in  our  narrative,  nor  harrow 
the  reader's  mind  by  any  minute  picturing  of  the 
fearful  scenes  of  that  day, — fearful  to  the  agonized 
child  and  to  the  gentle-hearted  woman  who  bore  to 
her  a  truer  love  than  had  ever  stirred  in  the  heart 
of  her  own  mother.  When  they  were  over,  Katy 
had  advanced  on  her  life-journey  over  the  space  of 
years.  New  thoughts  had  taken  possession  of  her 
brain  and  new  purposes  matured  in  her  heart  into 
resolute  determinations.  What  these  were  will  be 
seen. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   PROTECTING   ANGEL. 

THE  dangerous  crisis  over,  Mr.  Eldridge  sowiy 
renewed  his  strength.  It  was,  nearly  three  weeks 
after  the  terrible  disease  from  which  he  had  suffered 
began,  ere  he  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to 
leave  his  room.  Out  of  this  sickness  he  came  with 


262  WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO  t 

a  multitude  of  good  purposes  forming  in  his  miud. 
Mrs.  Lamb,  whose  unremitting  attentions  gave  her 
a  monitor's  privilege,  talked  with  him  often  and 
earnestly  about  his  condition,  and  urged  him  by 
every  high  and  holy  consideration  to  abandon  at 
once  and  forever  the  vice  which  had  almost  com 
passed  the  ruin  of  his  soul  as  well  as  body. 

Eldridge  promised  to  enter  upon  an  entirely  new 
course  of  life, — to  shun  public  houses,  and  to  refuse, 
on  all  occasions,  the  cup  which  for  him  to  drink  was 
madne3s.  lie  still  had  his  law-office;  and  there  he 
resolved  to  go,  daily,  giving  strict  attention  to  any 
business  that  might  offer,  and  thus  making  one 
more  effort  to  be  a  man  and  regain,  as  he  yet  had 
the  legal  ability  to  do,  his  lost  position. 

There  were  many  doubts  and  misgivings  in  the 
heart  of  Mrs.  Lamb  when  the  day  came  on  which 
Mr.  Eldridge  considered  himself  well  enough  to  go 
forth  again  and  meet  the  strong  temptations  that 
would  inevitably  beset  his  way;  and  well  might  she 
tremble  for  the  result.  But  little  conversation 
passed  at  the  breakfast-table ;  for  the  thoughts  of 
all  were  too  busy  for  words,  Katy  left  the  table 
first,  and  went  from  the  room  with  the  manner  of 
one  who  had  some  earnest  purpose  in  her  mi  ml, 
Not  long  afterward,  as  Mrs.  Lamb  was  going  up-staira, 
3}  10  met  Katy  coming  down  with  her  bonnet  on. 

;t  \Vhere  are  you  going,  child?"  she  inquired,  with 
natural  surprise. 

Katy  lifted  her  clear,  dark  eyes,  and  fixed  them 
steadily  on  the  face  of  Mrs.  Lamb,  who  saw  in  them 


THE   PROTECTING   ANGEL.  26S 

an  expression  never  read  there  before.  For  a  few 
moments  she  was  silent,  and  then  answered,  in  a  low 
tut  very  firm  voice, — 

"  I'm  going  with  father." 

"  Where  ?" 

"Anywhere  that  he  goes,''  was  replied  softly, 
eadly,  but  very  firmly.  The  eyes  of  Katy  did  not 
Bink  beneath  the  fixed  gaze  of  Mrs.  Lamb. 

"Why,  child!  child!"  returned  Mrs.  Lamb,  in  a 
perplexed  voice,  "this  will  never  do!  You  cannot 
go  with  your  father." 

"Nobody  loves  him  but  me,"  answered  Katy, 
whose  eyes  still  read  the  face  of  Mrs.  Lamb,  and 
with  a  vision  that  penetrated  even  to  her  thoughts. 

"No,  no,  Katy;  this  will  never^do!"  And  Mrs. 
Lamb  shook  her  head. 

"  You  told  Dr.  Penrose,"  said  Katy,  with  a  firm 
ness  of  tone  and  force  of  language  that  were  a  new 
surprise  to  Mrs.  Lamb,  "that  you  had  no  hope  of 
father,  because  there  was  nobody  to  see  after  or  care 
for  him ;  and  that  bad  men  would  tempt  him  to  hia 
own  destruction.  Didn't  you  say  this  ?" 

"Yes,  dear,  I  did  say  it,"  was  the  constrained  ad 
mission. 

"  Somebody  must  see  after  him,"  said  the  child. 

"  But  you  can't  do  it,  Katy.  You  are  only*  a  little 
girl." 

"  He's  my  father,"  was  the  touching  answer,- — "  my 
own  dear  father, — and  I  love  him.  He  won 't  send  ino 
back  home,  T  know.  He'll  like  to  have  me  go  with 
him  everywhere ;  I'm  sure  he  will,  for  doesn't  he 


264  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

come  here  every  day  to  see  me  ?  and  he's  said  many 
a  time  that  I  was  all  he  had  left  in  the  world  to 
love." 

"  Katy !  Katy !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Lamb,  more  pcr- 
| !exed  thati  before,  "you  must  not " 

"  Don't  say  I  must  not  go  with  father !"  The  child 
spoke  so  quickly  that  the  utterance  of  Mrs.  Lamb 
was  checked.  "You've  been  very  good  to  me;  and 
I've  always  minded  you,  haven't  I,  Mrs.  Lamb?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Katy,  you've  been  a  good  little  girl,  and 
I  love  you  just  as  much  as  if  you  were  my  own  child." 
The  heart  of  Mrs.  Lamb  was  full,  and  her  voice  un 
steady. 

"Oh,  then,  don't  tell  me  that  I  can't  do  what  I 
must  do  !"  said  Katy,  with  a  force  of  expression  that 
left  Mrs.  Lamb  no  alternative  but  submission — at 
least  then — to  the  child's  strange  purpose. 

"Father!  don't  go  until  I  see  you!"  Katy  called 
suddenly  doAvn-stairs,  as  she  heard  the  feet  of  her 
father  moving  along  the  passage. 

"No,  dear,  I'll  wait  until  you  come  down,"  replied 
Mr.  Eldridge. 

"I'll  be  there  in  a  minute." 

Katy  now  drew  a  step  or  two  nearer  to  Mrs.  Lamb, 
looking  her  in  the  face  so  fixedly  that  her  dark,  dec  p 
eyes  were  felt  to  possess  almost  the  power  of  fasci 
nation.  Suddenly  she  flung  herself  on  her  bosom 
and  clasped  her  neck  with  a  wild  impetuosity  never 
exhibited  before. 

"Dear,  good  Mrs.  Lamb  !"  sobbed  the  child.  "I 
.ove  you !  oh,  how  much  I  love  you !  But  he  is  my 


THE   PROTECTING   ANGEL.  265 

fatter,  and  I  must  go  with  him.  "Who  will  care  for 
him  if  I  do  not?" 

"But,  Katy "  said  Mrs.  Lamb,  as  soon  as  she 

could  find  voice  to  speak.  The  utterance  went  ho  fur 
ther,  for  the  child's  soft  hand  was  laid  upon  her  lips. 

"I'm  coming,  father!"  The  little  voice  was  firm 
and  courageous  as  it  went  ringing  down  the  staire. 

Katy  had  disengaged  herself  from  the  arms  of 
Mrs.  Lamb,  and  was  moving  away. 

"One  word,  child  !"  Mrs.  Lamb  called  to  Katy. 

Katy  paused  and  turned  partly  around. 

"Bring  your  father  home  here  at  dinner-time." 

"If  he  will  come." 

"  He  must  come!" 

The  doubt  expressed  by  Katy  gave  a  sudden 
glimpse  into  the  future  that  made  the  heart  of  Mrs. 
Lamb  sink  in  her  bosom.  She  felt  that  from  thia 
time  forth  the  resolute  child, was  bound  to  her  father 
and  separated  from  her. 

"  Mr.  Eldridge !"  Mrs.  Lamb  went  down  a-  few 
paces,  "you  will  come  back  at  dinner-time ?" 

"Thank  you!  But  I  cannot  say  'yes.'  I've 
troubled  you  long  enough,"  replied  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"Oh  !  but  you  must  come  !  I  want  you  here  to 
day,  particularly.  Say 'yes.'" 

"  Oh,  very  well,  then ;  yes,"  returned  Mr.  Eldridge, 
in  a  cheerful  voice. 

"  Why,  Katy  dear!"  Mrs.  Lamb  heard  him  say,  a 
moment  after,  "are  you  going  out  with  me?" 

"Yes,  father,''  answered  Katy,  and  she  grasped 
his  hand  firmly.  Mr.  Eldridge  made  no  opposition; 

23 


2G6  WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO  ? 

in  fact,  Le  was  pleased  to  have  her  company,  and 
wondered  in  his  heart  how  it  was  that  Mrs.  Lamb 
had  consented  to  let  the  child  go  with  him. 

Not  forty  paces  had  they  gone  before  they  were 
met  by  one  of  Mr.  Eldridge's  drinking-compaiiions. 
The  greeting  was  very  cordial  on  the  part  of  this 
friend  or  crony.  Katy  looked  up  into  the  man's  face. 
A  single  glance  sent  a  shudder  through  her  frame. 
The  antagonism  was  mutual ;  for  the  man,  on 
gazing  down  upon  the  crouching  form  of  the  little 
hunchback  and  into  her  unlovely  face,  exclaimed, 
coarsely, — 

"What  little  fright  is  this  you  have?  Oh,  I  see 
now,"  he  added;  "it's  that  cripple  of  yours!" 

"Come,  father!"  Katy  drew  gently  on  the  arm 
of  her  father,  who  yielded  to  the  impulse  and 
moved  away. 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  other,  gazing  after  them. 
"Now,  doesn't  that  beat  the  dickens ?" 

The  effect  of  this  on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Eldridge 
was  the  reverse  of  what  might  be  inferred.  The 
first  ei  >otion  on  seeing  his  old  friend  was  one  of 
pleasure ;  and  if  he  had  been  alone  he  would  have 
been  in  great  danger.  But  the  cruel  speech  about 
Kat)  wrought  an  instant  alienation  and  dislike;  for 
Katy  was  to  him  the  dearest  thing  in  life,  and  to 
wound  her  gentle,  loving  heart  was  a  crime  not  to 
be  forgiven. 

"  He's  a  wicked  man,  Katy,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  as 
they  moved  along. 

"He's  wicked  in  his  face,"  replied  Katy,  looking 


THE  PROTECTING  ANGEL.  267 

up  with  tear-filled  eyes.  Ah  !  how  the  words  "  little 
fright"  and  "  cripple,"  uttered  as  they  were  in  most 
contemptuous  toues,  had  chilled  her  heart  1  Not  that 
self-love  or  pride  was  assailed;  but  an  oppressive 
feeling  came  instantly  over  her,  that  seemed  as  if  it 
would  crush  out  of  her  young  spirit  all  its  new-born 
hopes.  If  she  were  such  a  fright,  how  could  her 
father  continue  to  love  her?  And  if  he  ceased  to 
love  her  she  must  cease  to  be  his  protecting  angel ! 

To  this  instant  conclusion  had  her  mind  come,  and 
well  might  it  fall  with  icy  coldness  on  her  feelings. 

"  Am  I  such  a  fright,  father  ?"  she  at  length  found 
the  courage  to  ask.  Her  large,  penetrating  eyes  were 
still  brimming  with  tears  as  she  lifted  them  again  to 
her  father's  face.  They  had  walked  some  distance  in 
silence. 

"  No,  dear,"  answered  her  father,  speaking  tenderly. 
"  It  was  very  wicked  for  him  to  say  that ;  indeed  it 
was  I  A  fright  ?  No,  no,  Katy ;  you  are  very  beau 
tiful  to  me.  Sometimes,  when  I  look  into  your  eyes, 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  looking  into  heaven." 

It  seemed  as  if  sunlight  suddenly  breaking  through 
a  cloud  had  fallen  upon  the  face  of  Katy,  making  it 
indeed  beautiful. 

The  door  of  Mr.  Eldridge's  office  was  now  reached, 
and  the  two  were  in.  Every  thing  in  the  room  was 
in  disorder  and  the  whole  aspect  of  the  placo 
cheerless.  The  few  law-books  that  remained  from 
the  lawyer's  once  extensive  library  were  scattered 
around;  some  on  the  table,  some  on  the  window 
sill,  and  some  on  the  floor.  Dust  lay  thick  upon 


268  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

every  thing;  and  the  scanty  furniture  was  soiled, 
di  ngy,  and  out  of  place. 

With  a  woman's  instinct,  Katy  began  at  once  the 
work  of  restoration.  There  was  a  broom  behind 
one  of  the  doors,  and  with  this  the  little  office  was 
soon  swept  out.  Then  table,  chairs,  and  shelves 
were  dusted,  and  the  few  light  articles  which  it  con 
tained,  such  as  books,  pens  and  ink,  paper,  &e.,  laid 
in  order.  How  changed  in  a  little  while  was  the 
aspect  of  every  thing !  The  desolate  look  departed, 
and  there  was  something  cheerful  to  the  eye  which 
soever  way  it  turned.  As  Katy  moved  about,  earnest 
and  busy,  her  father  would  pause  to  look  at  her,  with 
a  warmer  glow  in  his  heart. 

"Dear  child!"  How  often  were  these  words  re 
peated  in  the  thoughts  of  Mr.  Eldridge,  as  his  eyes 
followed  her  about  the  office.  "  For  her  sake  I  will 
be  a  man  again  !"  With  what  an  emphasis  did  he 
say  this  mentally! — an  emphasis  that  gave  strength 
to  the  purpose  it  expressed. 

Not  half  an  hour  had  elapsed  from  the  time  Mr. 
Eldridge  returned  to  his  office,  when  a  man  named 
Wilkins,  a  well-knowTn  and  influential  citizen,  came 
in,  saying,  as  he  entered,  in  an  animated  way, — 

"  Why,  how  are  you,  Eldridge?  What's  been  the 
matter?  I  haven't  seen  you  about  fur  a  long  time. 
Elave  you  been  sick?" 

"Yes;  I've  been  seriously  under  the  weather. 
J3ut,  thanks  to  a  kind  heart  and  good  nursing,  I  am 
on  my  feet  again ;  and,  piease  Heaven !  I  mean  to 
keep  standing  upright." 


THE    PROTECTING    ANGEL.  269 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Eldridge  !  And 
you  look  as  if  you  were  in  earnest,"  said  Mr.  Wilkins, 
in  a  pleasant  way.  "Only  stick  by  that  resolution, 
and  Arden  will  yet  be  proud  of  you  as  one  of  her 
best  citizens." 

The  heart  of  Katy  leaped  in  strong  impulses  as 
ehe  listened  to  these  words;  and  she  came  a  little 
forward  from  where  she  sat,  and  stood  and  leaned 
against  her  father,  lifting  up  to  the  face  of  the  visitor, 
as  she  did  so,  her  large,  liquid,  beautiful  eyes. 

"Who  is  this?"  he  inquired,  kindly,  laying  his 
hand  on  Katy's  head  and  stroking  her  glossy 
hair. 

"My  little  Katy,"  replied  Eldridge,  gratified  at 
the  notice  taken  of  the  child. 

"Indeed!"  The  visitor  spoke  as  if  surprised  at 
the  information.  "  Your  little  Katy !  She  looks  like 
a  dear,  good  girl,  as  I  am  sure  she  is."  And  Mr. 
Wilkins  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  child.  The 
impulse  to  do  so  was  so  strong  that  he  could  not 
resist  it. 

"You've  something  to  live  for,  Eldridge,"  he  re 
marked,  in  a  voice  that  betrayed  considerable  feeling. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  shrunken  features  of 
the  child,  which,  pain-disfigured  as  they  were,  seemed 
but  a  light  veil  shadowing  the  inner  beauty  of  her 
spirit. 

"  In  the  world,  but  not  of  it."  He  spoke  now  half 
to  himself.  "  May  God  keep  thee  from  its  evil  and 
sorrow !" 

"  I  have  strong  hope  of  you,  Eldridge,"  he  said, 

23* 


270  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

a  little  while  after,  in  a  cheerful,  encouraging  way, 
his  eyes  glancing  toward  Katy  as  he  spoke.  "It  ia 
said  that  evil  spirits  flee  in  terror  at  the  sight  of  a 
little  child,  its  innocence  smiting  them  with  intole 
rable  anguish.  Keep  this  gentle,  pure-hearted  one 
ever  near  you,  my  friend,  arid  the  enemies  of  your 
soul  will  stand  afar  oft'  in  fear,  leaving  you  to  walk 
sal'ely  onward.  Katy,"  and  the  visitor  laid  his  hand 
on  her  head  again,  and  spoke  very  impressively,  "  be 
to  your  father  a  protecting  angel.  Evil  spirits  a»e 
leagued  together  for  his  destruction,  and  they  have 
gained  a  fearful  power  over  him.  But  their  spell  is 
broken.  Keep  ever  very  near  to  him,  and  your  pre 
sence  will  hold  them,  as  now,  at  a  distance." 

Katy's  soul-lit  eyes  looked  steadily  upon  the  man's 
face  while  he  said  these  words,  and  with  a  womanly 
intelligence  in  them  that  filled  him  with  something 
of  wonder  and  reverence. 

"What  have  you  in  the  way  of  business?"  asked 
the  visitor,  soon  after. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Eldridge.  "But  I  am  here 
for  the  transaction  of  any  thing  that  offers  in  my 
'ine." 

"I  have  some  few  matters  that  require  attention, 
and  you  can  do  all  I  want  quite  as  well  as  anybody 
I  know." 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  said  Eldridge,  speaking 
with  animation.  "Whatever  you  wish  done  shall 
have  prompt  attention  on  my  part;  and  if,  by  a 
favorable  word,  you  can  help  me  to  a  little  business 
among  your  friends,  you  will  do  me  a  service  fof 


BETTER   ASPECTS.  271 

which  I  shall  ever  be  grateful.     I  will  not  abuse 
your  kind  confidence." 

Mr.  Wilkins  glanced  toward  Katy,  who  had  retired 
to  the  other  side  of  the  office  as  soon  as  business 
7as  introduced.  He  saw  that,  though  seeming  to 
be  indifferent,  every  faculty  of  her  soul  was  alive, 
and  that  she  was  taking  a  deep  interest  in  their 
words.  The  mute  appeal  that  looked  eloquently 
from  her  glittering  eyes  caused  him  to  answer  with 
strong  assurances  of  influence  in  favor  of  her  father. 
"I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  serve  you,  Mr.  El- 
dridge,"  were  his  earnestly-spoken  words.  "Only 
be  true  to  yourself,  and  all  will  come  out  right  in 
the  end." 


CHAPTER 

BETTER  ASPECTS. 

an  hour  after  Katy  went  away  with  he\  /uther, 
Mrs  Lamb  sat  weeping  and  grieving.  A  n«,w  leaf 
had  been  turned  in  her  life-experience,  and  trie  page 
was  so  full  of  strange  meanings  that  she  trembled  in 
fear  and  bewilderment.  The  child  had  gone  forth, 
never  to  return  to  her  in  the  old  relation, — never  to 
be  to  her  what  she  had  been  ;  and  heart  and  home 
were  desolate.  She  had  always  loved  Katy  very 
tenderly;  now,  something  of  reverence  was  blended 
with  her  love.  All  at  once  the  child  seemed  to 
have  risen  above  her,  and  to  have  acquired  new 


272  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

powers  for  a  mission  the  holiest  on  earth. 
more  she  thought  of  the  little  one,  going  out  so 
bravely  with  her  father  and  assuming  the  office  of 
guardian  and  protector,  the  more  she  thought  of  her 
as  heaven-sent,  and  the  sadder  grew  her  heart  under 
the  conviction  that  their  ways  in  life  could  move  on 
side  by  side  no  longer. 

Anxiously  did  Mrs.  Lamb  wait  at  the  appointed 
dinner-hour  for  the  return  of  Katy  and  her  father. 
They  came,  just  as  her  over-excited  feelings  were 
beginning  to  feel  the  chill  of  disappointment;  for 
their  arrival  was  late.  One  glance  at  Mr.  Eldridge 
made  her  heart  leap  with  pleasure.  He  walked 
erect,  and  his  face  was  pale  and  calm,  and  as  full  of 
intelligence  as  when  he  went  forth  in  the  morning. 
Katy  was  by  his  side,  holding  one  of  his  hands,  her 
countenance  radiant  with  pleasure. 

"  I've  come  back,  as  I  promised,  Mrs.  Lamb,"  said 
Eldridge,  speaking  in  a  cheerful  voice. 

"And  I'm  right  glad  to  see  you  again,  and  looking 
BO  well  and  happy,"  replied  Mrs.  Lamb.  "And  how 
are  you,  dear?"  she  added,  stooping  to  Katy  and 
kissing  her  fondly.  "  I've  missed  you  so  much  all 
the  morning  that  1  could  do  nothing  but  wander 
over  the  house  like  one  possessed." 

There  was  an  expression  of  womanly  independence 
and  womanly  self-reliance  in  the  face  of  Katy  as  she 
stood  beside  Mrs.  Lamb  and  looked  up  into  her 
motherly  countenance.  She  was  changed ;  and  the 
change  was  manifest,  not  in  any  unpleasant  assump 
tions,  but  simply  as  a  fact.  Katy  was  no  longer  a 


BETTER    ASPECTS.  273 

mere  child,  to  be  guided  and  controlled.  The 
warmly -manifested  love  of  Mrs.  Lamb  she  returned 
with  a  fervor  that  showed  how  deep  was  her  own 
affection.  IIow  gladly  would  she  have  fluttered 
back,  like  a  timid  bird,  to  the  bosom  of  her  mater 
nal  friend !  A  few  hours'  experience  in  the  world 
outside  of  the  sheltered  home  where  she  had  been 
so  tenderly  cared  for  revealed  many  things  with 
which  she  must  come  in  painful  contact;  and  her 
heart  trembled  as  her  eyes  strained  themselves  to 
look  into  the  unknown  beyond.  But  she  was  all 
the  braver  in  her  resolution  to  walk  in  the  new 
path  she  had  chosen. 

"  You  must  come  back  at  supper-time,"  said  Mrs. 
Lamb,  as  Katy  and  her  father  were  preparing  to  go 
out  after  dinner. 

Kuty  looked  up  at  her  father,  and  waited,  in  evi 
dent  concern,  for  his  answer. 

"That  will  be  imposing  on  you,"  replied  Mr. El- 
dridge.  "  Too  long,  as  it  is,  have  I  burdened  you, 
and  as  yet  I  can  only  render  the  poor  return  of 
gratitude ;  though,  please  Heaven,  it  shall  ere  long 
bo  something  more  substantial." 

"  Make  no  excuses,  Mr.  Eldridge ;  only  come  back 
«!  tea-time  with  Katy.  Remember  that  in  taking 
h  r  away  you  leave  a  pledge  of  return." 

"You'll  come  back,  father,  won't  you?"  Thia 
\\  | airy  decided  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"  If  both  wish  me  to  do  so  I  cannot  well  decline. 
i  us.  M  rs.  Lamb,  I  will  be  with  you  again  at  tea-time." 

"And  remain  all  night?"  added  Mrs.  Lamb,  wto, 


274  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

now  that  the  child  had  joined  herself  to  her  fathe-,, 
had  a  new  motive  for  extending  hospitality  to  tho 
latter. 

"  We'll  talk  about  that  at  tea-time,"  answered 
Mr.  Eld  ridge,  in  no  way  disinclined  to  accept  an 
nvitation  which  he  saw  was  extended  in  the  right 
ipirit.  And  he  was  the  more  inclined  to  do  so  from 
the  fact  that  there  was  in  Arden  no  other  door  at 
which  he  could  present  himself  and  find  a  welcome. 
His  course  of  life  had  alienated  him  from  every 
household ;  and  where  guests  were  received  for  hire 
his  presence  had  become  an  offence.  The  spirit  in 
which  Katy  had  joined  herself  to  him  was  not  at 
first  clearly  understood;  but  the  truth  had  dawned 
upon  him  like  the  breaking  of  a  new  morning,  and 
was  becoming  clearer  every  hour.  Already  the 
thought  of  her  when  darkness  should  close  in  upon 
them  had  begun  to  trouble  him.  He  could  think 
of  no  place  where  he  could  go  with  her  and  find  a 
home  for  a  single  night.  Alone  he  could  pass  tho 
dark  watches,  as  he  had  done  many  times  before,  on 
the  settee  in  his  office ;  but  Katy  must  have  better 
provision  than  that.  And  so,  for  her  sake,  he  de 
termined  to  accept  Mrs.  Lamb's  invitation,  at  loan 
for  that  time,  and  then  see  what  the  morrow  wouM 
bring  forth. 

The  business  placed  in  his  hands  by  the  perso: 
who  had  called  at  his  office  so  opportunely  occupied 
Us  time  all  the  morning,  and  still  required  nion; 
time  for  its  completion.  With  a  cheerful,  hopeful, 
earnest  spirit,  Mr.  Eldridge  went  back  to  his  work, 


BETTER   ASPECTS. 

entering  upon  it  again  with  something  of  the  old 

de-light  which  he  had  felt  in  his  profession.  If  an 
evil  spirit  came  to  him  and  excited  some  dormant 
cupidity,  the  instant  he  felt  the  kindling  desire  he 
lifted  his  eyes  to  the  form  of  Katy,  and  the  demon 
fled 

Ahout  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Wilkins, 
who  had  scarcely  heeii  able  to  get  the  thought  of 
little  Katy  out  of  his  mind  for  a  moment,  called  in 
at  the  office  of  Mr.  Eldridge.  His  interest  in  both 
the  father  and  child  was  strongly  excited.  The 
singular  aspect  which  the  case  presented  filled  him 
with  wonder  and  admiration ;  and  he  knew  enough 
of  human  nature  and  the  power  of  innocence  to 
feel  a  lively  confidence  in  the  result  of  a  vigorous 
struggle  for  the  mastery  over  evil  which  had  evi 
dently  begun  in  the  mind  of  Eldridge. 

"  He  must  be  helped !  Every  good  man  in  Arden 
must  come  to  the  rescue  !"  he  said  to  a  friend  with 
whom  he  conversed  on  the  subject.  "  I  never  was 
BO  moved  by  any  thing  in  my  life  as  by  the  self- 
devotion  of  that  little  deformed  child, — his  'Katy,' 
as  he  called  her,  with  a  tenderness  in  his  voice  that 
made  it  falter.  There  is  virtue  left  in  his  heart ! 
There  is  ground  there  not  all  overrun  with  weeda 
and  thistles;  and  it  must  be  sown  with  good  seeds." 

"It  may  be,"  was  answered,  a  little  indifferently, 
''that  your  imagination  has  carried  you  a  little 
beyond  the  fact  touching  Katy.  She  has  probably 
gone  out  with  her  father  from  some  childish  im- 
pulse  But,  as  to  having  any  matured  purpose,  such 


"276  WHAT   CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

as  you  infer,  I  dou't  think  it  is  in  the  little  ungainly 
thing.  I've  seen  her  often  with  Mrs.  Lamb,  and 
must  say  that  the  wonderful  depth  and  beauty  of 
her  eyes,  about  which  you  are  so  enthusiastic,  never 
made  any  impression  on  me.  She  struck  me  aa  a 
Tery  common  and  rather  repulsive  child." 

"A  deformed  body  and  plain  features  often  eii- 
shrino  a  soul  of  wonderful  beauty ;  and,  for  all  you 
say,  I  am  not  the  less  assured  that  the  fact  is  true  in 
the  present  case.  Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  there 
is  an  earnest  desire  on  the  part  of  Eldridge  to  mend 
his  ways;  and  we  must  help  him,  in  the  name  of 
humanity." 

To  every  one  he  met  Mr.  Wilkins  communicated 
the  intelligence  that  Eldridge  had  commenced  a  new 
course  of  life  and  under  peculiar  circumstances. 
The  warm  coloring  he  threw  upon  the  single  fact 
of  meeting  Katy  in  her  father's  office,  and  the  true 
inferences  he  had  drawn  therefrom,  awakened  a 
strong  interest  in  many  minds;  and  several  influen 
tial  men  of  property,  who  always  had  more  or  lesa 
business  to  transact  which  required  legal  forms, 
said  that,  as  soon  as  the  poor  broken-down  inebriato 
gave  any  reasonable  evidence  of  a  purpose  to  re 
form  and  attend  to  his  professional  duties,  they 
would  employ  him,  as  wrell  for  their  own  safety  as 
his  encouragement, — no  lawyer  in  Ardeu  having  ac 
quired  a  better  reputation. 

"Busy  at  work?"  said  Mr.  Wilkins,  cheerfully,  as 
he  came  into  the  little  office,  where  he  found  El 
dridge  writing  at  a  table  on  which  every  thing  waa 


BETTER   ASPECTS.  277 

laid  in  order.  A  neat  bunch  of  flowers,  in  fresh 
water,  stood  near  him,  diffusing  a  pleasant  fragrance 
through  the  room.  But  Katy  was  not  there.  Mr. 
\Vilkins  glanced  around  in  search  of  her,  and  felt 
lisappointed  at  not  meeting  the  little  face  he  bad  so 
confidently  expected  to  see. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Eldridge,  "  and  I  hope  to  keep 
busy.  I'm  making  good  progress  in  your  mutters, 
though  a  little  slower  than  I  anticipated.  There 
have  been  some  recent  laws  passed  which  afibct 
the  transfer  of  property  in  this  particular  manner, 
and  I  have  spent  several  hours  in  sifting  them  out 
and  comparing  them  with  previous  enactments  not 
annulled  by  their  passage." 

"*  Slow  and  sure'  is  a  good  rule,"  said  Mr.Wil- 
kins.  "  Don't  hurry  the  work." 

"It  shall  be  all  done  right;  you  may  depend  on 
that,  Mr.Wilkins." 

"  I  don't  see  your  little  Katy,"  said  the  visitor,  in 
a  voice  that  betrayed  his  anxiety  on  that  head. 

"  She's  here,  bless  her  gentle  heart !"  replied 
Eldridge,  a  light  breaking  over  his  countenance. 
"You'll  find  herin  the  yard, — a  little  busy  bee  among 
the  flowers.  Just  see  how  clean  she  has  wecdc  1 
that  border!  Where,  yesterday,  not  a  flower  was 
able  to  show  its  feeble  head  above  the  tall  grass  and 
rank  cicuta,  a  few  lady's-slippers,  petunias,  and  lark 
spurs  now  lift  their  white,  purple,  and  crimson  blos 
soms,  smiling  in  the  sunshine.  I  stood  and  looked 
at  them  and  her  a  few  minutes  ago,  until  the  teara 
came  into  my  eyes.  All  the  manhood  of  my  nature 

24 


278  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

was  stirred  to  the  very  depths,  Mr.  Wilkins!  Gfod 
bless  the  child,  and  make  me  as  true  to  her  as  she 
is  now  to  me  !" 

"Amen  !  God  hless  and  help  you  both !"  was  fer 
vently  responded. 

"Where  are  you  staying  now?"  asked  Mr.  Wil 
kins,  as  he  walked  back  from  the  window. 

"I  have  been  for  a  couple  of  weeks  at  the  house 
of  Mrs.  Lamb.  She  nursed  me  like  a  second  mother 
— as  she  has  been  to  my  child — during  my  unhappy 
illness.  But  she  is  poor,  and  I  have  burdened  her 
too  long.  I  am  going  back  there,  on  her  kind  in 
vitation,  this  evening,  but  to-morrow  will  have  to 
make  some  other  arrangement." 

"Why  not  board  with  her?"  suggested  Mr. 
Wilkins. 

"  That  would  hardly  be  convenient  or  agreeable," 
said  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"Are  you  certain?" 

"  I  have,  at  least,  so  inferred." 

"  Perhaps  it  might  be  altogether  so.  Mrs.  Lamb 
has  been  your  Katy's  second  mother,  and,  no  doubt^ 
loves  her  dearly." 

"  Oh,  yes.  A  mother  could  not  love  her  better," 
replied  Mr.  Eldridge. 

"That's  the  place  for  you,"  said  Mr. Wilkins,  con 
fidently.  "You'd  better  talk  with  Mrs.  Lamb  about 
it.  Her  house  is  small,  but  it  will  do  very  well  for 
the  present.  In  less  than  a  year  I  hope  to  see  you 
m  so  prosperous  a  business  that  you  can  rent  her  a 
larger  one,  if  need  be." 


BETTER   ASPECTS.  279 

The  thought  of  Mr.  Eldridge  reverted  instantly  to 
his  two  sons,  who  had  been  turned  off  into  the  rcorUl 
to  shift  for  themselves ;  and  he  remembered  how, 
under  the  care  of  Mrs.  Lamb,  their  very  natures 
seemed  to  change,  and  the  children  who  had  lived 
for  years  in  strife  harmonized  under  her  wise  and 
living  rule.  lie  had  heard  nothing  from  them  for 
a  wholvi  year,  and  the  intelligence  last  received  had 
left  but  a  vague  impression  on  his  mind.  "  Poor 
bo}7s !"  he  said,  mentally,  as  thought  continued  to 
dwell  upon  them. 

"I  should  not  object  to  the  arrangement,"  re 
marked  Eldridge,  in  answer  to  the  suggestion  of 
Mr.  Wilkms. 

"Then  by  all  means  try  and  make  it,"  said  the 
latter,  who  saw  at  a  glance  how  mu  ,n  of  safety  for 
the  reforming  man  there  would  be  in  such  a  home, 
where  not  even  the  shadow  of  temptation  could 
enter. 

The  good  wishes  of  Mr.  Wilkins  did  not  die  in 
his  thoughts.  Not  content  with  suggesting  a  home 
at  Mrs.  Lamb's,  he  called  that  very  afternoon  upon 
the  kind-hearted  woman  and  talked  with  her  freely 
about  Mr.  Eldridge.  He  found  her  not  only  willing 
to  make  the  arrangement,  but  anxious  on  the  sub 
ject,  particularly  on  Katy's  account.  The  more  she 
thought  about  the  child's  going  out  into  the  world  to 
be  the  self-devoted  companion  of  a  father  who  had 
follon,  through  vice  and  intemperance,  to  the  lowest 
degree  of  degradation,  the  more  deeply  was  she  dis 
tressed.  Before  her  mind  passed  the  whole  cata* 


280  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO  ? 

logue  of  evils  she  might  be  called  to  endure ;  and 
her  heart  grew  sick  at  the  review.  Love,  pity,  hu 
manity,  all  united  in  urging  upon  her  the  adoption 
of  some  means  to  save  Katy  from  the  sad  conse 
quences  that  were  almost  certain  to  fall  ipon  hor 
head. 

A  brief  but  earnest  conversation  with  Mr.  Wil- 
kins  made  her  duty  plain  to  Mrs. Lamb;  and  when 
Mr.  Eldridge  came  back  with  Katy  about  sunset  she 
was  entirely  ready  to  offer  him  a  home  if  he  would 
accept  the  humble  provision  she  could  make.  Mr. 
Eldridge  had  no  serious  objection  to  offer,  and  so,  to 
the  satisfaction  of  all  parties,  it  was  settled  that  he 
should  be  a  boarder,  for  a  time  at  least,  in  the  h  mae 
of  Mrs.  Lamb. 

After  tea,  the  lamps  were  lighted  in  the  H-iall 
"best  room,"  and  Mrs.  Lamb  went  in  there  with  her 
sewing.  Katy  had  some  work  to  do  also,  and  drow 
her  chair  up  to  the  table  .on  which  the  light  burrod: 
it  was  a  chair  made  higher  than  the  rest,  so  that 
her  shrunken  body  could  be  raised  to  a  comfortable 
position. 

How  old  home-loves  awakened  in  the  heart  of  Mr. 
Eldridge  as  he  looked  at  the  little  group— if  two 
may  so  be  called — sitting  around  the  table,  with  tho 
lamps  shining  upon  their  faces,  lighting  them  up 
with  something  of  beauty  !  A  crowd  of  memories 
came  rushing  into  perception;  a  flood  of  shong 
emotions  swept  through  his  soul.  The  old  home- 
feeling  revived,  and  his  heart  yearned  toward  hi* 


BETTER   ASPECTS.  281 

children,  desiring,  with  an  intense  desire,  to  have 
them  gathered  at  his  own  hearth  again. 

The  first  thought  of  Mr.  Eldridge,  when  the  lights 
were  brought  and  the  table  arranged  for  the  even 
ing's  work,  was  to  get  a  book  and  read  to  Katy  and 
Mrs.  Lamb.  But  these  thronging  memories  of  the 
past  and  pictures  of  what  might  be  in  the  future  so 
absorbed  him  that  he  remained  sitting  a  little  apart, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  room,  silent  and  musing. 
Images  of  the  times  gone  by  could  not  arise  in  his 
thoughts  without  the  form  of  his  wife  presenting 
itself.  There  could  be  no  home-greetings  without 
her  presence  among  the  children, — no  heart-wann 
ing  recollections  of  the  better  times  that  did  not 
include  a  face  once  the  light  of  life.  Never  before, 
since  that  unhappy  day  so  fatal  to  the  peace  of  both, 
had  Mr.  Eldridge  thought  of  his  wife  with  the  soft 
ened  feelings  that  were  now  experienced ;  and  he  was 
more  inclined  to  blame  himself  than  the  passionate, 
wrong-minded  woman  to  whom  he  had  conceded 
nothing  when  the  smallest  sign  of  yielding  on  his 
part  might  have  brought  her  back  humbled  and 
changed  to  the  home  so  madly  deserted. 

Where  was  she  ?  The  question  under  this  altered 
condition  of  mind  startled  him.  Years  had  pa^^i  <1 
Bince  the  day  of  their  separation.  But  once  since  then 
had  he  looked  upon  her  face;  and.  from  the  time  nlie 
left  Arden,  no  word  of  her  had  ever  reached  It'm. 
She  might  be  dead,  for  all  he  knew  to  the  contrary  ; 
—was,  perhaps*  As  he  thought  of  her  his  feelings 
grew  more  tender,  and  something  of  the  old  lovo 

24* 


2*2  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

began  to  revive.  She  did  not  present  herself  in  any 
repulsive  aspects,  but  as  in  the  earlier  days  of  their 
wedded  life, — gentle,  affectionate,  thoughttui  of  his 
comfort,  and  making  his  home  radiant  with  the  light 
of  love. 

"We  may  not  wonder  that  Mr.  Eldridge  was  silent 
for  that  evening,  burdened  as  were  his  thoughts  with 
Buch  a  weight,  nor  that  he  was  restless  through  the 
night  that  followed,  startled  often  from  sleep  by  the 
too  vivid  presence  of  dreaming  images. 


CHAPTER  XXXI, 

A   BRIGHTENING   FUTURE. 

WE  cannot  linger  to  describe  the  daily  life  of  Mr. 
Eldridge,  nor  to  draw  pictures,  full  of  interest  aa 
they  would  be,  of  the  many  scenes  in  which  Katy 
bore  a  part.  The  child,  true  to  her  great  mission, 
never,  for  many  months,  left  her  father's  side 
while  he  was  abroad  in  the  world  to  him  so  full  of 
danger. 

At  first  there  were  some  to  speak  light  or  scoiF- 
ing  words  and  to  assail  her  ears  with  language  that 
chilled  her  heart  and  caused  her  steps  to  falter. 
But  she  only  shrunk  the  closer  to  her  lather's 
side  and  grasped  his  hand  with  a  tinner  pressure. 

Not  long,  however,  did  this  continue.  The  gene 
ral  sen  timeut  ran  too  strongly  in  her  favor  as  soon 


A  BRIGHTENING   FUTURE.  283 

as  the  meaning  of  her  unvarying  presence  with  her 
father  was  known.  Numbers  who  had  stood  for  a 
long  time  aloof  from  Mr.  Eldridge  as  one  hopelessly 
wedded  to  a  fatal  vice  now  took  a  new  interest,  be 
cause  there  was  a  new  and  strong  ground  of  hope. 
They  saw  his  step  growing  firmer,  his  head  more 
erect,  his  countenance  more  elevated ;  and  the  angel 
by  his  side  gave  them  confidence  in  the  change  as 
permanent.  Business  increased,  and,  in  the  concen 
tration  of  his  thoughts  thereon,  and  prompt  execu 
tion  of  whatever  was  confided  to  his  care,  new  power 
was  gained ;  for  in  all  useful  work  there  is  a  sphere 
of  safety. 

At  first  the  business  intrusted  to  Mr.  Eldridge 
went  little  beyond  the  execution  of  legal  documents 
involving  the  transfer  of  property;  but  court-cases 
came  in  time,  and  he  took  his  old  place  at  the  bar, 
gradually  rising  there  toward  his  former  high  posi 
tion.  Judge  Gray  never  seemed  to  feel  very  easy 
when  Eldridge  argued  a  cause  before  him.  Their 
personal  intercourse  was  of  the  most  distant  charac 
ter;  and,  when  allusion  was  made  in  his  presence  to 
the  reformed  life  of  the  lawyer,  he  either  gave  a 
doubtful  shrug,  or  said,  half  contemptuously,  "  Wait 
a  while."  Once  or  twice  he  had  spoken  in  the  pre 
sence  of  Mr.  Wilkins  in  a  sneering  manner  of  little 
Katy,  who  was  still  the  unvarying  companion  of  Mr. 
Eldridge,  even  going  with  him  into  court,  yet  al 
ways  in  the  most  unobtrusive  manner,  and,  as  far  as 
possible,  in  a  way  to  attract  little  or  no  attention. 
Mr.  Wilkins  answered  nothing,  though  words  of  re- 


284  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

bake  trembled  on  his  tongue.  One  da}T,  as  he  was 
standing  near  the  court-house  door,  talking  with  the 
judffe,  Mr.  Eldridge  passed  near  them,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  stooping  form,  of  Katy  came  gliding 
lioi&elessly  by. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  exclaimed  the  judge, 
in  a  harsh,  angry  voice,  so  startling  the  child  that 
she  stood  suddenly  still  and  looked  up  with  a  fright 
ened  countenance.  The  man's  voice  and  air  showed 
a  large  amount  of  pent-up  ill-feeling  now  betraying 
itself. 

"You'd  better  run  off  home!  That's  the  place 
for  little  girls,"  added  the  judge,  speaking  less 
harshly. 

The  father  of  Katy  had  passed  within  the  building, 
/  and  knew  nothing  of  this  petty  assault  by  Judge 
Gray.  The  child,  startled  at  first,  recovered  herself 
in  a  few  moments,  and  moved  forward  again  in  the 
direction  she  was  going  when  her  steps  were  so  sud 
denly  arrested. 

"  That  was  a  cruel  thing,"  said  Mr.  Wilkins,  firmly 
fixing  his  eyes  upon  the  face  of  Judge  Gray; — "a 
rery  cruel  thing!" 

"I  didn't  ask  your  opinion  of  the  matter,"  re- 
turted  the  judge. 

"But  you  have  the  benefit  of  it,  notw/.hstanding," 
said  Mr.  "Wilkms.  "I  didn't  believe  there  was  a 
man  in  Arden  with  a  heart  hard  enougli  to  wound 
the  feelings  of  that  noble  child." 

"Xoble  !  Pah  !"  Judge  Gray's  manner  expressed 
the  most  bitter  contempt.  "I'm  sick  of  all 


A   BRIGHTENING    FUTURE.  285 

cant !  I  see  nothing  in  her  but  an  ugly,  forward 
little  imp,  entirely  out  of  her  place." 

Unwilling  to  hear  such  epithets  applied  to  one 
whose  very  name  had  come  to  signify,  in  hia 
th.'Might.  angelic  self-devotion,  Mr.  Wilkius  turned 
away  from  the  judge  and  entered  the  court-house. 
He  did  not  find  Katy  in  her  accustomed  seat;  and  it 
was  some  time  before  his  eyes,  searching  in  every 
part  of  the  room,  discovered  her  shrinking  close  be 
side  a  pillar,  with  the  evident  purpose  of  avoiding 
observation.  In  a  little  while  he  noticed  her  going 
almost  stealthily  toward  her  father.  She  whispered 
a  few  words  that  appeared  to  surprise  him;  but  he 
smiled  and  nodded  assent.  Katy  then  retired  from 
the  court-room,  and  did  not  appear  there  again 
during  the  morning  session. 

"What  was  Katy  saying  to  you  just  now  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Wilkind,  going  over  to  where  Eldridge  was 
seated. 

"She  is  hemming  some  handkerchiefs  for  me," 
replied  Mr. Eldridge,  "and  wanted  to  go  back  to 
the  office  and  finish  them  by  the  time  court  ad 
journed." 

"  Oh !  was  that  all  ?"  Mr.  Eldridge  looked  a  'ittle 
curious ;  but  Wilkins  said  no  more. 

From  that  time  Katy  went  no  more  to  the  court 
house  with  her  father;  but  she  always  accompanied 
him  to  his  office,  and  remained  there  to  return  with 
him  at  mid-day  and  evening. 

When  Mr.  Eldridge  was  informed  of  Judge  Gray's 
conduct  toward  Katy,  he  was  strongly  indignant; 


286  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

and  it  required  all  the  influence  possessed  by  Mr. 
Wilkiua  to  prevent  a  quarrel  between  them. 

"  Let  it  all  pass,  my  friend,"  said  the  latter,  soof  h- 
ing  the  father's  excitement.  "The  judge  has  only 
exhibited  a  phase  of  character  he  had  been  wiser  to 
conceal." 

"He's  a  villain!"  exclaimed  Eldridge. 

"Don't  call  hard  names,"  returned  Mr.  "Wilkins. 

"The  tables  turn  sometimes,"  said  Eldridge,  calm 
ing  a  little.  "I  have  been  down,  and  very  low 
down ;  and  Judge  Gray  is  something  to  blame  for 
the  fatal  declension.  But  I  am  on  my  feet  again, 
and  hourly  renewing  my  strength.  Time  will  one 
day  see  us — mark  me ! — in  far  different  relations  to 
each  other  than  we  now  occupy." 

"I  do  not  think  his  feet  are  on  safe  ground,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Wilkins. 

"I  know  they  are  not.  Judge  Gray,  unless  there 
be  in  his  moral  constitution  a  saving  element  rarely 
found  in  men  of  his  class,  will  run  down  rapidly  in 
a  few  years.  I  know  something  of  his  habits  and 
associates.  "Well,  well,  I  must  not  wish  him  evil, 
even  if  he  have  done  me  wrong." 

And  I^ldridge  softened  his  feelings  toward  the 
judge,  and  tried,  though  in  a  feeble  way,  to  forgive 
him. 

As  Mr.  Eldridge  gradually  acquired  strength  of 
character  and  put  on  the  externals  of  a  higher  man- 
hoo'l.  Katy,  from  a  natural  instinct  of  what  was 
right,  withdrew  herself  more  and  more  from  public 
observation,  and  sometimes  did  not  accompany  him 


A   BRIGHTENING   FUTURE.  287 

to  his  oflice  nor  visit  him  there  for  days  together. 
But  she  always  met  him  with  so  bright  a  face  when 
lie  returned  home,  and  gave  the  parting  kiss  so 
lovingly  when  he  went  out,  that  her  spirit,  remained 
present  with  him  for  good  even  when  she  waa 
absent  in  the  body. 

Within  a  year  from  the  time  Mr.  Eldridge  began 
ir  earnest  the  work  of  reformation  he  had  attained 
a  position  that  surprised  every  one.  Strict  attention 
to  business,  added  to  the  reputation  of  being  one  of 
the  best  lawyers  in  the  country,  soon  brought  him 
important  cases,  most  of  which  he  conducted  to  a 
favorable  issue.  His  income  steadily  increased;  but 
this  brought  him  not  into  temptation,  for  he  had 
ends  to  accomplish  that  would  require  means  far 
beyond  what  he  could  yet  command.  As  soon  as 
he  found  himself  able  to  do  so,  he  rented  a  larger 
house  than  the  one  occupied  by  Mrs.  Lamb,  and 
installed  the  good  lady  therein  as  mistress.  Then 
he  brought  his  two  boys  home.  Rough  usage  had 
they  met  with ;  but  both  were  subdued,  and  thankful 
in  their  heart  of  hearts  to  get  home  again.  They 
had  grown  into  stout,  coarse,  strong  lads,  and  none 
in  the  village  remembered  them  as  the  two  sprightly 
little  boys  who  played  about  their  father's  dwelling, 
years  before,  ere  the  shadows  had  fallen  dark  across 
its  threshold.  Mr.  Eldridge  had  them  entered  at  the 
best  school  in  Arden,  and  in  the  evenings  spent 
luust  of  his  time  in  assisting  them  in  their  varioua 
studies. 

Dear  Katy !  how  happy  she  was  in  this  blessed 


288  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

re -union!  In  all  possible  ways  she  sought  to  make 
home  bright  and  pleasant  for  every  one.  Very 
tenderly  was  she  loved,  for  all  felt  the  warmth  of 
her  loving  heart.  It  was  rarely  that  any  thought  of 
Lor  deformity,  or  saw  in  her  homely  face  any  thing 
hu*  the  spiritual  beauty  which  shone  through  as  if 
it  were  but  a  filmy  veil. 

One  evening,  (it  was  about  three  months  from  the 
time  William  and  Jacob  had  been  restored  to  their 
home,)  Mr.  Eldridge  seemed  more  thoughtful  than 
usual,  and  sat  apart  from  the  family,  with  his  hand 
shading  his  face,  as  if  desirous  to  conceal  its  troubled 
expression.  Katy,  too,  from  some  cause,  was  not 
cheerful.  She  had  been  moving  about  since  tea-time, 
busy  in  the  arrangement  of  various  household  mat 
ters  ;  but  her  voice,  which  so  often  broke  out  in  little 
snatches  of  song,  did  not  once  stir  the  air  with  its 
low  melodies.  At  length  she  drew  her  chair  to  the 
table  where  William  and  Jacob  were  busy  with  their 
lessons,  and  began  the  work  of  mending  a  garment. 
But  the  pressure  of  thought  on  her  young  mind 
every  now  and  then  caused  her  hands  to  fall  idle  in 
her  lap ;  and  she  would  sit  sometimes,  for  minutea 
together,  so  still  that  she  seemed  like  a  statue. 

At  length  Katy  pushed  herself  back  from  the 
bible  and  laid  her  sewing  upon  a  chair,  as  if  hope 
less  of  accomplishing  any  thing  for  the  time  in  that 
direction.  For  a  little  while  she  looked  earnestly 
toward  her  father,  and  then,  crossing  over  to  where 
lie  sat,  still  so  absorbed  in  thought  as  to  be  uncon 
scious  of  any  thing  passing  in  the  room,  pressed  up 


A    BRIGHTENING   FUTURE.  289 

closely  to  -iis  side  and  drew  her  arm  around  hia  r^cck. 
Mr.  Eldridge  returned  the  endearing  act,  and  at  the 
same  time  kissed  her  as  he  drew  her  tightly  to  hit 
heart.  She  laid  her  head  hack  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  he  bent  his  face  down  until  his  cheek  wao 
j  reseed  to  hers. 

"Father!"     Katy  spoke  in  a  low  whisper. 

Mr.  Eldridge  raised  his  head  and  looked  down 
upon  her  face. 

"What,  dear?"  he  inquired. 

"Don't  you  wish  mother  was  here  ?" 

Katy's  eyes  were  closed,  and  she  did  not  open 
them,  fearing  to  look  into  her  father's  face  to  see 
the  effect  of  h^r  question.  She  did  not  know  that 
her  words  were  but  an  echo  to  his  thoughts. 

"Yes,  love."  The  answer  came  also  in  a  whisper 
— a  whisper  meant  to  conceal  the  quicker  heart-beat 
her  query  occasioned. 

"Where  is  she,  father?"  Never  before  had 
Katy,  while  speaking  with  him,  referred  in  any  way 
to  her  mother. 

"Heaven  only  knows!"  replied  Mr. Eldridge,  hia 
voice  betraying  deep  emotion. 

"  Can't  we  find  her,  father  ?  Oh,  I  wish  she  was 
home !  Last  night  I  had  such  a  sweet  dream  about 
her!" 

"  What  was  it,  Katy  ?"  The  voice  that  trembled 
with  excitement  a  moment  before  was  forced  into 
an  even  tone. 

" 1  dreamed  that  1  was  lying  in  bed  awake,  and 
that  mother  came  in  and  sat  by  my  side,  stooping 

25 


290  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO  ? 

do\vn  and  kissing  me.  I  have  felt  her  ki^s  on  my 
Ppa  over  S-nce,  father !  Then  she  laid  lier  hand  on 
my  head  and  smoothed  my  hair,  and  said, — jh !  ?o 
many  times, — '  Dear  Katy  !  dear  Katy  !' ' 

Tl  e  child's  voice  grew  unsteady,  and  then  faile-1 

lor.     A  warm  drop  fell  upon  the  hand  of  Mr.  K!- 

dridge:  he  knew  it  was  a  tear.     Closely  he  claspc>il 

her  with  his  arm.     But  he  answered  nothing  more. 

In  a  little  while  Katy  withdrew  herself  from  tho 
embrace  of  her  father,  and,  going  back  to  the  table, 
took  up  her  work,  and  bent  down  over  it  so  low 
that  the  expression  of  her  face  could  not  be  seen. 
Mr.  Eldridge  remained  silent  and  reserved  until 
early  bedtime,  and  then  retired  without  a  word  to 
any  one, — a  thing  for  him  unusual. 


CHAPTER 

REPENTANCE. 

"  AUNT  MARGARET  !" 

The  voice  that  called  was  low  and  feeble.  Mrs. 
Angel!  arose  quickly  and  went  up  to  the  little  spare 
chamber,  as  it  was  always  called,  though  for  years  if 
had  not  been  without  an  occupant,  and  leaned  ovoi 
Uwi  bed.  A  pale  face  lay  among  the  snowy  pillows. 

"  Aunt  Margaret,  don't  you  think  I  might  sit  up 
a  little  ?  I  feel  stronger  to-day,"  said  the  invalid. 

"The  air  is  very  mild,"  answered  Mrs.  Angel  1, 


REPENTANCE.  29J 

"  so  there  is  no  danger  of  taking  cold.  Yes ;  maybe 
it  would  do  you  good,  Harriet.  Let  me  draw  the 
large  chair  to  the  window,  so  that  you  can  look  out 
apon  the  trees  and  fields." 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Margaret.  You  are  so  very 
kind  to  me,"  said  the  invalid,  after  she  had  walked, 
with  Mrs.  Angell's  assistance,  to  the  window,  from 
which  she  glanced  as  she  sunk  into  the  great  easy- 
chair.  "How  beautiful  every  thing  looks!"  was 
added,  after  she  had  gazed  for  some  moments  on 
the  fine  prospect  that  lay  before  her  eyes. 

"How  long  is  it  since  I  came  here,  Aunt  Mar 
garet?"  The  speaker  had  remained  silent  for  some 
moments,  looking  out  upon  the  landscape,  but  for 
most  of  the  time  seeing  it  not,  the  inward  vision 
obscuring  the  outward. 

"It  is  four  years  this  very  month,"  said  Mrs. 
Angell. 

"Four  years!  Yes,  yes;  that  long  time  had 
passed.  How  swiftly  the  days  have  flown  !  And 
some  of  them,  Aunt  Margaret,  have  been  sorrowful 
days  for  you.  Poor  Phoebe !  Why  did  not  the 
arrow  find  my  heart  instead  of  hers,  and  leave  you 
the  blessing  of  a  child  ?  "What  am  I  to  you  ?" 

"Harriet!"  There  was  a  gentle  reproof  in  the 
kind  voice  of  Mrs.  Angell. 

"I  know  what  you  would  say,  Aunt  Margaret. 
Ah,  if  I  only  had  your  beautiful  reliance  on  the  all- 
wise  Being  who  knoweth  our  frame  and  remem- 
boreth  that  we  are  dust,  I  might  yet  find  peace  on 
earth,  1  hough  heavily  burdened  with  memories  that 


292  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

often   seem  as  if  they  would   crush  my  very  lift 

wtr 

"Memories  of  what,  Harriet?" 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Margaret !"  The  ejaculation  indicated 
bolh  pain  and  surprise. 

"Harriet!"  (Mrs.  Angeli  laid  her  hand,  with  an 
earnest  pressure,  on  the  arm  of  her  niece,)  "it  is  the 
first  time  in  the  lapse  of  nearly  four  years  that  I 
have  questioned  you,  even  remotely,  touching  your 
past  history;  and  my  wish  to  do  so  now  springs 
from  no  idle  curiosity,  but  from  a  strong  desire  to 
do  you  good.  Unless  the  physician  knows  some 
thing  about  the  origin  of  the  malady  he  seeks  to 
cure,  he  cannot  wisely  administer  his  remedies.  To 
me  your  whole  past  history  is  a  blank.  I  am  even 
a  stranger  to  the  name  you  bear  in  right  of  mar 
riage.  I  know  nothing  of  the  ways  in  which  your 
feet  have  trodden  from  the  time  I  laid  my  hand 
among  the  soft  brown  curls  that  clustered  about 
your  childish  face,  until  you  came  to  me  a  heart- 
burdened  woman,  fleeing  from  the  world  and 
seeking  to  hide  yourself  in  the  deepest  retire 
ment." 

"Help  me  back  to  the  bed,  Aunt  Margaret, 
begin  to  feel  faint.     I  thought  I  was  stronger  than 
I  am."     The  invalid  spoke  with  quivering  lips  and 
an  unsteady  voice. 

Mrs.  Angell  assisted  her  to  rise,  and,  with  the 
loving  tenderness  of  a  mother,  supported  her  feeble 
Bleps  across  the  room  until  she  gained  the  bed. 

"I  am  still  very  weak,  Aunt  Margaret,"  she  said, 


REPENTANCE. 

in  a  mournful  voice.  "How  slowly  strength  re 
turns  !" 

Mrs.  Angell  did  not  reply  to  this  remark,  but 
stood  silently  looking  down  upon  her  niece,  who, 
after  returning  her  gaze  for  a  few  moments,  said, — 

"  Go  on,  Aunt  Margaret.  I've  many  times  de- 
ired  to  talk  with  you  of  the  past,  hut  my  heart 
has  always  failed  me  when  I  tried  to  speak. 
Say  on." 

"You  came  to  me  a  heart-burdened  woman," 
Mrs.  Angell  resumed,  in  her  gentle,  loving  way. 
"I  could  see  that  in  the  battle  of  life  you  had 
suffered  wrong." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Margaret !  a  deep  and  "blasting 
wrong!"  The  pale  face  of  the  invalid  flushed,  and 
an  indignant  light  burned  in  her  eyes. 

"And  it  was  also  plain  to  me,  Harriet,  that  in 
this  battle  of  life  you  had  dealt  hard  blows  as  well 
as  received  them." 

There  was  no  answer  to  this. 

"And   I  have   often   thought,"   continued   Mrs. 

Angell,   "  that  there    might  be   some   living  who 

carry  about  with  them  wounds  you  have  inflicted, 

—  wounds,  it  may  be,  that  still  bleed,  as  do  your 

own." 

The  long  lashes  of  the  invalid  fell  low  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  her  pale  lips  drew  close  together. 

"  You  have  greatly  changed  from  what  you  wero, 
Harriet,  when,  four  years  ago,  you  sought  a  hiding- 
place  in  my  humble  home, — changed  in  exterior, 
and,  I" am  sure,  in  heart  also.  Impatient  by  nature, 

25* 


294  -WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

you  have  repressed  your  quick  impulses,  and,  with 
a  gentleness,  kindness,  and  self-devotion  not  by 
auy  means  hereditary  qualities,  have  borne  with, 
cared  for,  and  patiently  instructed  my  motherless 
grandchildren,  until,  from  bent,  twisted,  and  gnanod 
young,  plants,  they  are  growing  up  into  pleasant 
trees." 

"Don't,  don't,  Aunt  Margaret!  It  is  to  your 
gentleness — ;\  daily  reproof  to  my  selfish  impatience 
— that  we  are  indebted  for  the  great  change  which 
has  passed  upon  these  children.  I  cannot  receive 
the  praise  that  is  due  to  yourself.  Left  only  to  my 
care,  they  would  have  remained  gnarled  and  un- 
beautiful  plants.  But,  Aunt  Margaret," — and  the 
invalid  raised  herself  on  one  arm,  and  spoke  in  a 
voice  that  thrilled  to  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Angell, — 
"  did  you  think,  while  I  taught  these  children 
daily,  and  daily  ministered  to  them,  that  my  eyes 
never  pictured  another  home  than  this,  and  that  my 
heart  never  yearned  toward  other  children, — flesh 
of  my  flesh  and  bone  of  my  bone  ?  Oh,  Aunt 
Margaret!" 

The  pent-up  anguish  of  years  gushed  forth,  and 
the  unhappy  invalid,  weak  in  body  and  mind,  buried 
her  face  in  one  of  the  pillows,  and  sobbed  wildly  for 
some  minutes. 

"Harriet,  whnt   of   this    other    home?    what  of 

hu.se    other   children?"    said  Mrs.  Angell,  as  soon 

as   this  strong  outburst  of  emotion  hud  subsided. 

"  You  must  tell  me  all :  but  not  now ;  you  are  '/  <» 

weak." 


REPENTANCE.  295 

'  I  tnnst  speak  now,  if  at  all,"  was  answered. 
"Tv*-raorrow  pride  may  seal  my  lips  in  silence." 

"  Say  on,  then."  And  Mrs.  Angell  bent  her  ear 
close  down  to  the  pillow  on  which  the  head  of  her 
triece  had  fallen. 

The  history  and  confession  then  and  there  give 
were  complete,  with  the  single  exception  of  the 
studied  concealment  of  her  name ;  and  when  Mrs. 
Eldridge  closed  her  sad  narrative  the  only  response 
her  aged  relative  made  was  to  press  her  lips  to  her 
forehead,  and  say,  in  a  troubled  voice, — 

"  My  poor,  unhappy  child !" 

Never,  since  the  day  that  saw  Mrs.  Eldridge  go 
forth  so  blindly  and  madly  from  her  home,  had  the 
whole  aspect  of  her  case  looked  so  unlovely  in  her 
own  eyes  as  now,  even  though,  in  opening  the  past 
to  Mrs.  Angell,  she  had  sought  to  give  every  inci 
dent  she  related  a  bearing  favorable  to  her  own 
side. 

"  I'm  afraid,  Aunt  Margaret,"  she  said,  after  many 
minutes  of  silence  had  passed,  "that  even  on  my 
own  showing  I  have  not  been  altogether  free  from 
blame." 

"  Your  Mrs.  Weakly  and  Mrs.  Glendy  were  ba<* 
advisers,"  was  the  old  lady's  simple  answer. 

"  They  certainly  did  not  prove  themselves  very 
fast  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

Another  long  silence  followed.  Mrs.  Angell  waa 
confounded  by  the  history  of  her  niece.  The  al  tan- 
do  nment  of  her  home  and  children  on  the  provoca 
tion  alleged  seemed  to  her  gentle  spirit  so  extra- 


296  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

ordinary  that  she  could  not  realize  the  stale  of 
mind  by  which  her  relative  had  been  impelled. 

"  Do  not  think  too  evil  of  me,  Aunt  Margaret." 
Mis.  Eldridge  raised  her  eyes  with  a  timid  look  to 
the  Pace  of  Mrs.  Angell.  "If  there  is  any  atone 
ment  for  wrong  in  suffering,  I  may  at  least  alairo 
forgiveness  from  you." 

"Against  me  you  have  never  sinned,  Harriet," 
was  gravely  answered. 

"Then  God  forgive  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  El 
dridge,  wildly  striking  her  hands  together  above 
her  head. 

"Harriet,"  said  Mrs.  Angell,  deeply  moved  at 
this,  "  God  always  forgives  the  forgiving.  lie  never 
turns  his  face  away  in  anger ;  and  when  we  think  him 
implacable  it  is  only  the  image  of  our  own  accusing 
and  unrelenting  spirit  that  is  seen.  It  is  plain, 
Harriet,  that  through  all  these  long  years  of  suiter- 
ing  and  humiliation  you  have  never  forgiven  your 
husband.  Look  into  your  heart  and  see  if  it  be 
not  so." 

"It is  even  as  you  say.  I  have  not  forgiven  him." 
Mrs.  Angell  had  waited  for  an  answer  to  her  sug 
gestion  ;  and  it  came  at  length 

"Was  he  all  to  blame?"  she  asked. 

"No,  no;  I  was  in  many  things  to  blame,  Aunt 
Margaret.  1  did  not  make  him  a  paticu",  home- 
loving  wife.  I  am  irritable  by  nature,  and  was  not 
always  careful  to  repress  its  exhibition  toward  him 
and  our  children.  But  he  altered  very  much  as 
time  went  on,  and  that  only  gave  me  causes  of  di* 


REPENTANCE  297 

tnrbince  not  existing  in  the  early  years  of  our  mar« 
ried  life.  He  grew  exacting,  and  at  times  a  little 
imperious,  seeking  to  trammel  my  freedom.  It  ia 
not  in  my  nature  to  endure  that;  and,  when  Le 
towered  up  before  me  a  demanding  and  forbidding 
*yrant,  I  rebelled,  counting  no  price  too  great  for 
iberty." 

The  pale  face  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  flushed  with 
the  excitement  of  her  feelings. 

"Your  husband  was  a  home-loving  man,  you 
say?"  Mrs.  Angell  asked  the  question  in  a  quiet 
voice,  but  one  that  was  full  of  meaning. 

"Yes;  he  was  very  domestic  in  his  feelings." 

"You  were  by  the  marriage-pledges  made  the 
genius  of  his  home." 

Mrs.  Eldridge  did  not  answer. 

"Were  you  a  good  genius,  transmuting  all  the 
heart's  baser  metal  into  the  gold  of  loving-kind 
ness?  Did  sunshine  always  attend  your  presence, 
or  were  clouds  the  garments  in  which  you  clothed 
yourself?  Harriet,  you  need  not  answer  to  me 
these  questions;  but  let  me  conjure  you  to  answer 
hem  truly  to  your  own  heart." 

The  invalid's  eyes  were  shut  tightly,  the  fringing 
lids  lying  darkly  above  her  cheeks. 

"lie  was  a  home-loving  man  !"  Mrs.  Angell  re 
peated  the  words  as  if  uttering  them  to  herself, 
"To  how  many  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  ;>/ 
lonely-hearted  wives  would  home  be  a  paradise  if 
this  could  be  -said  of  their  husbands!  A  home- 
loving  man  !  Why,  this  includes  half  the  domestic 


298  WHAT   CAN   WOMAN    DO? 

virtues.  Let  your  thoughts  go  far  back,  Harriet,  to 
the  early  days  of  your  wedded  life.  Was  he  not  a 
true,  loving  husband  ?  Did  he  seek  only  his  own 
gratification,  or  was  your  delight  his  pleasure  ?" 

"And  what  wrought  the  change  ?"  Mrs.  Eldridgo 
had  answered  nothing,  and  so  her  aunt  assumed 
that  her  husband  h  id  oeen  all  that  was  supposed. 
"Oh,  Harriet,  deal  faitnfully  by  yourself  and  him! 
If  the  first  error, was  on  your  part,  fo -give  all  that 
came  in  \iie  sad  array  of  consequences.  If  home 
was  to  him  the  dearest  place  imagination  could  pic 
ture,  how  sad  must  he  have  been  when  the  truth 
came  forcing  itself  upon  his  unwilling  convictions 
that  he  had  erred  in  the  choice  of  a  home-com 
panion  !  —  that  he  had  taken  one  to  his  heart 
vrho " 

"Aunt  Margaret!"  (the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Eldridge 
flew  open,)  "  do  you  wish  to  kill  me  by  words  ? 
What  are  you  saying?" 

"Have  I  put  the  case  too  strongly?"  Mrs.  Angell 
spoke  very  calmly  and  very  seriously.  "Did  you 
fuliil  to  him  the  promise  of  your  betrothal  ?  Let 
your  heart  answer,  and  answer  truly.  He  was  a 
home-loving  man.  'Home-loving!'  Think  of  that, 
Harriet  If  what  a  man  loves  beyond  all  else  in 
life  changes  its  pleasant  aspect  and  become  unlovely, 
is  there  not  danger  of  his  changing  also?  There 
are  thousands  of  sad,  lonely,  hopeless  wives  to-day, 
whoue  selfish,  thoughtless,  unloving  disregard  to  the 
young  husbands'  peculiar  wants  has  worked  a  hope- 
loss  alienation  between  themselves,  and  men  who 


REPENTANCE.  299 

have  loved  them,  even  unto  death,  with  an 
unswoiriug  affection.'' 

"0\v,  rpare  rcc!  spare  me!"  Mrs.  Eldridge  cried 
out,  in  KLsgiiish.  "The  blasting  image  you  have  con 
jured  up  is  looking  at  me  as  from  a  mirror!  I  see 
myself,  hideously  deformed !  Oh  that,  I  could  die  !" 

"Say,  rather,  Harriet,  'Oh  that  I  2ould  live,  to 
restore  again  the  old  landmarks,  to  create  a  new 
h'^e  '-iiid  til!  nil  its  chambers  with  the  golden  atmo 
sphere  oi  love  ! 

"Ah!  if  that  were  possible!  if  that  were  pussi- 
ble  !"  sighed  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"It  may  be  all  possible,  Harriet,"  said  her  aunt. 
"lie  who  guided  your  footsteps  hither,  and  who 
hath  kept  you  up  to  this  time,  has  reserved  you,  I 
trust,  for  this  good  work.  The  hearth  so  long  fire- 
less  may  yet  grow  bright  and  warm  again,  the 
desolate  home  smile  in  the  light  of  love's  own  sun 
shine,  the  walls  so  long  silent  echo  to  the  glad 
sound  of  children's  voices  !" 

"Hark!"  Mrs.  Eldridge  raised  herself  on  her 
elbow  and  listened.  A  brief  silence  had  followed 
the  last  words  of  Mrs.  Angell,  and  in  the  pause  the 
sound  of  footsteps  was  heard  in  the  walk  below  the 
window. 

"Does  Mrs.  Angell  live  here?"  The  question, 
distinctly  heard  in  the  chamber,  was  asked  in  a 
man.!}-  voice. 

Mrs.  Eldridge  gave  a  sudden  start,  flushed,  and 
then,  growing  pale  as  ashes,  sunk  back  on  the 
pillow. 


300  WHAT  CAN  WOMAN   DO? 

Descending  to  the  door,  Mrs.  Angell  met  a  well- 
dressed,  intelligent-looking  man,  who  said,  in  a  tone 
of  inquiry, — 

"Is  this  Mrs.  Angell?" 

By  his  side  stood  a  little  girl,  deformed  in  person 
and  with  a  shrunken,  hueless  face ;  but  her  eyes 
shone  like  brilliant  stars. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Angell,"  was  the  simple  response. 

"And  I  am  Morgan  Eldridge." 

"  What !  Morgan  Eldridge  ?  It  cannot  be  !"  Mrs. 
Angell  was  for  a  few  moments  so  overcome  with 
surprise  that  she  remained  standing  in  the  door,  not 
even  inviting  the  strangers  to  enter.  But,  recover 
ing  herself,  she  grasped  the  hand  of  Mr.  Eldridge 
and  drew  him  into  the  house. 

"Is  my  mother  here?"  Two  small  hands  grasped 
eagerly  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Angell,  and  a  pair  of  dark, 
earnest  eyes  were  lifted  to  her  face.  The  voice 
thrilled  through  her  bosom  like  a  sudden  wail  of 
sad  music. 

"Your  mother,  child?     Who  is  your  mother?" 

"Katy !  Oh,  Katy  !"  A  feeble  voice  called  down 
from  the  chamber. 

"It  is  mother!"  And  the  child  sprung  away, 
gliding  from  the  room  and  up  the  stairs  almost  aa 
swiftly  as  a  bird  on  the  winjr. 

"I'll!  bewildered, — confounded !"  said  Mrs.  Angell, 
as  soon  as  she  had  a  little  recovered  herself.  "Mor 
gan  El-lridge  !  Did  I  hear  aright?" 

"  That  is  my  name,  Mrs.  Angell ;  and  here,  in  thig 
village,  my  unhappy  life  began.  Ah,  how  many, 


REPENTANCE.  801 

many  times  have  I  wished  that  I  had  died  when  ray 
mother  died !" 

"And  are  you  the  husband  of  my  niece  Harriet?" 

"Yes'  yes!" 

"  Fathei  !  dear  father !"  (Katy  had  come  gliding 
down  from  the  room  above  as  swiftly  as  she  had  as 
cended,  and  now  grasped  her  father's  hand ;)  "  come 
up,  and  see  mother." 

"  Go,  Morgan ;  go !"  said  Mrs.  Angell.  "  The  first 
ray  of  sunshine  that  has  lighted  her  heart  for  years 
will  shine  there  when  she  looks  upon  your  forgiving 
face  and  hears,  as  of  old,  your  voice  in  words  of 
loving-kindness.  Go ;  go  to  her  quickly ;  and  may 
God  grant  you  both  the  deep  joy  of  reconciliation  !" 

"Won't  you  remain  with  me,  dear?"  added  Mrs. 
Angell,  taking  the  hand  of  Katy,  as  Mr.  Eldridge 
was  passing  from  the  room.  Katy's.face  was  wet 
with  tears,  but  her  large  dark  eyes  were  full  of  glad 
ness.  She  suffered  Mrs.  Angell  to  draw  her  to  a 
seat. 

"  What  ails  my  mother?"  There  was  in  the  voice 
of  Katy  a  peculiar  sweetness,  rarely  met  with  in 
persons  who  have  suffered  a  like  injury  with  tha 
which  she  had  sustained.  It  was  scarcely  possible 
to  feel  repulsion  toward  her,  or  even  to  be  unplea 
santly  conscious  of  her  deformity,  after  her  tones 
had  once  fallen  upon  the  ear.  Mrs.  Angell,  from 
the  moment  she  heard  her  voice,  felt  her  heart 
moving  toward  1he  child  with  a  strong  attraction ; 
and  the  more  so  from  the  deep  love  she  evidently 
fwt  toward  the  mother  who  had  deserted  her. 

26 


802  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

•v 

Drawing  her  arm  around  Katy,  and  pressing  her 
close  to  her  side,  she  answered, — 

'  Your  mother  has  been  sick  with  a  fever,  and  ia 
very  weak.  But  the  fever  is  broken,  and  she  will 
be  growing  better  every  day." 

"Are  you  my  mother's  aunt?"  Katy  lifted  her 
large  liquid  eyes  to  the  face  of  Mrs.  Angell  with  a 
look  of  tender  confidence. 

"Yes,  dear;  I  am  your  mother's  aunt  Margaret." 

"How  long  has  she  been  here?" 

"About  four  years,"  was  answered. 

"All  the  time?" 

"Yes,  dear;  all  the  time." 

There  was  a  slight  change  in  the  expression  of 
.Katy's  face,  and  a  shadow  seemed  to  fall  over  and 
dim  the  brightness  of  her  eyes.  She  looked  down 
ward  for  a  few  moments,  and  then,  with  an  inex 
pressible  burst  of  grief,  laid  her  face  in  the  lap  of 
Mrs.  Angell  and  sobbed  so  violently  that  every 
part  of  her  frame  quivered  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind. 

Mrs.  Angell  offered  no  words  of  comfort;  for 
what  could  she  say  ?  how  was  she  to  reach  a  heart 
the  secret  ways  to  which  she  had  never  learned  and 
to  the  treasured  experiences  of  which  she  was  a 
stranger  ?  and  so  the  child  was  left  to  sob  her  emo 
tion  away,  But  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Angell  moved 
softly  al..  the  while  amid  her  dark  brown  hair. 

"Katy!" 

"  Yes,  father."  And  the  child  started  eagerly  at 
the  call  from  the  room  up  to  which  her  father  had 
gone  a  little  while  before. 


REPENTANCE.  305 

• 

"  Go,  and  heaven  bless  you !"  said  Mrs.  Angell,  who, 
with  unerring  instinct,  saw  in  Katy  the  love-link 
that  was  to  bind  together  hearts  once  rudely  loru 
asunder,  but  now  approaching  again,  each  impelled 
)y  a  strong  necessity. 

Let  a  few  minutes  pass :  and  now  we  draw  the 
curtain  for  a  glimpse  into  the  chamber  of  reconcilia 
tion. 

Mr.  Eldridge  is  sitting  upon  the  bed,  one  arm 
drawn  tightly  around  the  wasted  form  of  his  wife, 
who  is  lying  against  his  breast  and  gazing  up  into 
his  face  with  love-lit  eyes  that  are  stirring  old,  de 
licious  memories.  The  beauty  of  young  maiden 
hood  is  veiling  in  his  sight  her  wan  and  wasted 
countenance.  The  Harriet  of  love's  young  dreams 
is  in  his  clasping  arms,  and  the  kisses  that  are 
pressed  to  her  lips  are  full  of  young  love's  ardor. 
Katy  stands  leaning  her  head  upon  her  father  and 
looking  down  into  the  face  which  had  never  been 
forgotten  though  always  remembered  with  pain. 
She  is  calmest  of  the  three;  for  the  joy  that  fills  hei 
heart  is  too  deep  for  outward  expression. 

We  let  the  curtain  fall  again. 


804  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO 


CHAPTER   XXXHI. 

ANOTHER     RECONCILIATION. 

SCARCELY  had  Katy  left  the  room,  on  tho  cull  of 
h--  father,  before  old  Mrs.  Burden  came  in,  as  she 
Wf  d  in  the  habit  of  doing  almost  every  day. 

tkHow  is  your  niece?"  she  inquired. 

"Better.     She  improves  slowly,  but  steadily." 

"What's  the  matter,  Mrs. Angell?  You  have  a 
strange  look !  Has  any  thing  happened  ?" 

Mrs.  Burden  had  become  aware  of  something  un 
usual  in  the  expression  of  her  neighbor's  face. 

"  1Tes;  something  very  unusual  has  happened," 
was  answered : — "  something  that  has  confounded 
me,  and  will  confound  you  also.  Harriet's  husband 
is  here !" 

" Mrs.  Angell!" 

"  It  io  true ;  and  he  is  with  her  now.  He  came  onl^ 
a  few  minutes  ago,  bringing  one  of  her  children 
with  him, — a  little  broken-backed  girl,  with  the 
darkest,  deepest,  loveliest  pair  of  eyes  you  ever 
looked  into,  and  a  voice  that  sounds  like  music." 

"I  am  confounded!  Her  husband?  I  didn't 
know  that  sL<*  had  a  husband  living.  Did  you?" 

"I  inferred  *s  much,  but  never  knew  all  her  sad 
history  until  ti.-  iay ;  and  scarcely  was  the  narrative 


ANOTHER.    RECONCILIATION.  305 

completed  when  he  arrived.     She  left  him  in  a  mo 
irient  of  blind  passion,  after  what  she  regarded  as  a 
deep  provocation;  and  they  have  never  met  since 
until  now." 

"  Who  or  what  is  he  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Burden. 

'•  [  can  answer  the  who,  but  not  the  what ;  and 
tlio  answer  will  make  your  heart  leap.  His  name 
•a  Morgan  Eldridge." 

The  face  of  Mrs.  Burden  grew  instantly  pale. 
Her  lips  quivered  in  the  effort  to  speak,  but  no 
Bound  came  through  them.  Then  she  seemed  to 
shrink  in  her  chair,  as  if  a  crushing  weight  were 
laid  upon  her.  A  very  long  time  she  remained 
silent  and  almost  motionless. 

"Are  you  certain  about  this,  Mrs.  Angell  ?"  she 
said  at  last,  making  an  effort  to  arouse  herself. 
Her  voice  was  singularly  changed  from  its  usual 
tones,  which  were  always  firm,  and  at  times  almost 
imperative. 

"He  said  that  his  name  was  Morgan  Eldridge, 
and  referred  to  this  place  as  known  to  him  of 
old." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Burden. 

"  Up- stairs,  with  Harriet,"  was  answered. 

;;  Will  you  ask  him  to  come  down  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Harden. 

•k  Perhaps  you  had  better  wait  a  little  while  before 
^eing  him.  Take  time  to  recover  yourself  and  col 
lect  your  thoughts." 

"I  must  see  him  now,  Mrs.  Angell!  Wait? 
Impossible !  An  hour's  suspense  would  kill  me  !'* 

26* 


80n  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

Mrs.  A-ngell  still  hesitated. 

•'  Oh  !  will  you  not  call  him  down  ?" 

"They  must  be  left  alone  for  a  little  while,"  said 
Mrs.  Angell.  "Intrusion  would  now  be  cruel." 

But   Mrs.  Burden  could    not  repress  her  strong 

mpatierice.     Two  or  three  times  she  moved  across 

he  room   in  a  very  disturbed   manner;    then    the 

excitement  of  suspense  became  too  strong  for  her, 

and,  breaking  through  all  restraint,  she  passed  from 

the  little  parlor  and  went  hurriedly  up-stairs.     Mrs. 

Angell  called  after  her,  but  she  took  no  heed  of  her 

warning  words. 

Grouped  very  much  as  the  reader  saw  them  in 
a  brief  glance  a  little  while  before  were  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Eldridge  and  Katy  when  Mrs.  Burden  entered 
abruptly  the  chamber.  Before  either  spoke,  or  the 
group  had  time  for  any  change  of  position,  the  ex 
cited  woman  exclaimed, — 

"  Oh,  Morgan  !  My  son !  my  son  !  Can  it  be  pos 
sible  that  you  still  live,  and  that  these  eyes,  which 
have  so  longed  for  years  to  look  upon  your  living 
face,  DOW  see  you  in  the  body?  Morgan  !  Morgan  ! 
My  son  !" 

Slowly,  as  if  there  was  going  on  in  his  heart  a 
powerful  struggle,  did  Mr.  Eldridge  disengage  him 
self  from  the  arms  of  his  wife  and  daughter.  Slo\\ !; 
he  raised  himself  up,  his  countenance  scarce'^ 
changing,  and  moved  a  pace  or  two  toward  Mrs 
Burden.  Still  now  as  a  statue  she  remained,  het 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  countenance.  He  paused,  with 
out  speaking ;  then  advanced  a  step ;  paused  again. 


ANOTHER   ^CONCILIATION.  307 

and  then  sprung  forward,  saying,  as  he  did  30,  in  a 
voice  full  of  emotion, — 

"Mother!  mother!" 

Mrs.  Burden's  arms  were  thrown  eagerly  arounr 
hitr  ;  and  her  voice,  breaking  into  sobs,  murmured,  •- 

"  My  son  !  my  son !  God  be  praised  that  we  mett 
again  !" 

A  little  while  she  stood  clasping  his  manly  form ; 
then,  pushing  him  from  her,  she  looked  earnestly, 
yet  with  a  fond  expression,  into  his  face. 

"Yes,  yea,"  she  said;  "it  is  indeed  my  Morgan. 
I  would  have  known  him  still  among  a  thousand. 
Oh,  you  unforgiving  one !"  she  added,  with  some 
thing  of  chiding  in  her  voice,  "how  could  you 
find  it  in  your  heart  to  mete  out  to  one  who  loved 
you  and  wras  proud  of  you  such  a  long,  weary,  cruel 
punishment?" 

"  I  had  great  provocation,  mother,"  was  replied, 
in  a  steady  voice  and  with  a  changing  countenance. 

"  Hush !  hush !  Ah,  Morgan,  we  both  had  pro 
vocation.  But  I  was  older,  and  should  have  been 
wiser,  and  was,  therefore,  most  to  blame.  You 
were  a  young,  indulged,  self-willed  boy,  wrho  might 
easily  have  been  led,  and  I  was  an  inexperienced  step 
mother,  with  high  notions  of  order  and  rule.  As 
flint  and  steel  we  came  together, — I  the  flint  and  you 
the  steel ;  and,  as  it  usually  happens  in  such  1.0.338, 
the  flint  suffered  most  in  the  collision  : — hor  ".Ducli, 
you,  Morgan,  may  never  know.  Ah,  my  r/~;r  I  al 
ways  loved  you  and  was  always  proud  (  /  you,-— 
prouder  than  of  any  who  were  my  own  ile&a 


808  WIIAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

blood ;  and  there  lias  not  been  a  moment  in  all  this 
long,  long  period  of  separation  when  I  would  not 
gladly  have  resigned  the  dearest  thing  left  me  on 
earth  to  have  realized  the  blessing  of  this  hour." 

"  Let  the  past  and  all  its  sad  memories  perish!" 
said  Mr.  Eldridge,  evincing  strong  emotion.  "And 
now,  mother,  let  me  introduce  my  wife  and  child. 
One  you  know,  of  course,  though  not  until  now  aa 
the  wife  of  your  long-absent  one ;  the  other  you  can 
never  know  fully, — God  bless  her!" 

And  he  led  Mrs.  Burden  across  the  room.  "Har 
riet!  Can  this  be  indeed  possible?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Burden,  as  she  bent  down  and  kissed  the  pale  face 
of  Mrs.  Eldridge. 

"Are  we  not  all  phantoms  in  a  strange  dream  ?" 
said  the  latter.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  would  awake  sud 
denly  into  the  sad  realities  which  seem  to  have 
passed  away.  Oh,  Mrs.  Burden,  to  think  that,  in 
fleeing  from  my  husband,  like  a  mad  woman  that  I 
was,  I  should  come  to  the  very  home  of  his  child- 
hood !" 

"  *  Man  proposes,  God  disposes.' "  It  was  the 
mild  voice  of  Mrs.  Angell,  who  had  come  up  to  th 
chamber,  feeling  that  her  presence  might  be  useful. 
"And  now,  my  friends."  she  added,  "  let  the  mantle 
of  forgiveness  fall  over  the  past  in  this  hour  of  joy 
ful  reconciliation.  You  have  all,  doubtless,  sinned 
much  and  forgiven  much.  Only  let  the  forgiveness 
be  complete." 

"0  God!  help  me  to  forget  the  past!"  said  Mr. 
Eldridge,  in  a  voice  that  was  full  of  deep  entreaty. 


ANOTHER  RECONCILIATION.  809 

"May  I  remember  it  only  as  a  guide  to  the 
future!"  murmured  the  white  lips  of  the  exhausted 
invalid,  over  whose  pallid  features  a  deathly  hue 
was  falling. 

"Oh,  Harriet!"  exclaimed  her  husband. 

But  his  voice  only  reached  her  ears  like  the  voice 
of  one  calling  from  a  far  distance.  An  instant 
more  and  every  sense  was  locked  in  profound  un 
consciousness. 

The  excitement  of  the  past  hour  had  been  too 
much  for  Mrs.  Eldridge,  weakened  as  she  was  by  a 
recent  severe  illness.  For  a  little  while  both  Mr. 
Eldridge  and  Katy  were  strongly  agitated  and  iu 
great  fear;  but  Mrs.  Angel  1  quieted  their  alarm  aa 
much  by  her  undisturbed  manner  as  by  her  earnest 
assurances  that  no  cause  for  anxiety  existed.  "It  is 
only  a  fainting-fit,  and  will  soon  pass  over."  So  fullj 
assured  was  her  voice  that  their  hearts  took  comfort, 
and  they  waited  ki  trembling  hope,  watching  for  thu 
first  signs  of  returning  animation.  And  suspend 
was  not  long. 


810  WHAT  r-AU  TOMAN  DO? 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  2CENE   WITH   JUDGE   GRAY. 

"I  MUST  /jo  back  with  you,  Morgan,"  said  Mrs. 
ElJridge,  in  a  pleading  voice.  "Don't  leave  me  !" 

"  It  will  only  be  for  a  very  short  time,  Harriet. 
There  are  certain  preparations  which  I  have  set  my 
heart  on  making  for  your  return.  Be  patient  a  little 
while.  I  will  come  back  for  you  very  soon." 

"  How  can  I  live  an  hour  away  from  you,  Mor 
gan  ?"  And  the  old  love  that  won  and  warmed  hia 
heart  "in  the  long  ago"  was  in  her  eyes. 

"  Only  a  few  short  weeks,  Harriet,  and  then — " 

"  Weeks  !  Dou't  say  weeks !  They  will  be  to  me 
like  years." 

"Let  it  be  as  he  desires,  Harriet,"  said  Mrs.  An- 
gell ;  "  and  have  some  regard  for  me  also.  How  can 
I  give  you  all  up  in  a  single  moment  ?  I  cannot  !— 
indeed  I  cannot !" 

"  You  will  leave  Katy  ?"  Mrs.  Eldridge  turned 
her  eyes  with  a  tender  look  upon  her  little  defcnued 
girl. 

No  one  answered;  but  Katy  drew  close  to  her 
father  and  leaned  against  him  in  a  way  that  said 
as  plainly  as  words  could  have  uttered  her  resolu 
tion, — "  Where  he  goes  I  will  go." 

Mrs.  Angell,  who  had  learned  from  Mr.  Eldridge 


A   SCENE   WITH   JUDGE   GRAY.  31 1 

something  of  Katy's  true  character,  high  purposes, 
and  deey  devotion  to  himself,  said  instantly,-— 

"  [f  Katy  wishes  to  go  with  her  father  we  must 
hot  hinder  her." 

"  We  will   come  back  for  you  very  soon,  dca 
mother!"     Katy  had  turned  to   her   mother,  ana 
now  put  her  arms  lovingly  about  her  neck,  kissii.g 
hor  fondly  as  she  did  so. 

''And  then  there  will  be  no  more  parting  until 
death,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  almost  solemnly. 

"None  through  any  cause  of  mine,  dear  husband !" 
replied  Mrs.  Eldridge.  "  Heaven  keeping  me,  I  will 
be  to  you  a  true  wife  and  to  my  children  a  true 
mother." 

About  a  week  from  this  time  Mr.  Eldridge  visited 
Judge  Gray  at  his  office.  Years  had  gone  by  since 
last  his  form  darkened  the  doorway  which  had 
proved  to  him  an  entrance-gate  to  the  "road  to 
ruin."  The  judge  received  his  old  victim  very 
frigidly;  and  Eldridge  treated  him  with  cold  but 
respectful  formality. 

"  I  have  a  little  business  with  you,  judge,"  said 
Mr.  Eldridge,  after  taking  a  proffered  chair. 

"1  uui  at  your  service."  The  judge  did  not  seem 
to  be  altogether  at  his  ease. 

"  My  old  house,  I  see,  is  without  a  tenant,"  re 
marked  Eldridge. 

The  judge  nodded. 

"  Is  it  for  sale  ?" 

"No." 

"  I  would  like  to  get  it  back  again,  judge." 


812  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

"I  don't  wish  to  sell." 

Eld  ridge  leaned  close  to  the  judge,  and,  fixing  his 
eyes  intently  upon  him,  said  a  few  words  that  caused 
the  latter  to  start  and  turn  slightly  pale. 

"  You  perceive,  Judge  Gray,  that  you  are  entirely 
in  my  power!"  said  the  lawyer,  speaking  with  the 
utmost  coolness.  "  Craig  will  be  arrested  to-mor 
row  unless  he  get  wind  of  the  pursuit;  and  T  shall 
take  pleasure  in  conducting  the  prosecution.  With 
out  doubt,  if  the  evidence  is  as  clear  as  we  hope  to 
obtain,  conviction  will  follow;  and  in  pronouncing 
his  sentence,  judge,  beware  of  personal  favor.  He 
must  have  the  full  penalty  of  the  law." 

"Must?"  said  the  judge,  indignantly.  "What 
right  have  you  to  indicate  to  me,  in  even  the  re 
motest  manner,  my  official  duty?  The  presumption 
is  outrageous !" 

"Excitement  will  be  fruitless,  Judge  Gray.  If 
that  villain,  too  long  unwhipped  of  justice,  is  brought 
to  the  bar  and  found  guilty  of  the  crime  alleged, 
you  must  not  trifle  with  justice  in  fixing  the  amount 
of  penalty,  unless" — and  Eldridge  leaned  close  to 
the  judge  and  looked  into  his  face  with  a  steady 
glance — "you  wish  to  share  in  the  expiation." 

"  Sir !  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  outrage  is 
this  you  venture  upon?"  The  judge  was  strongly 
disturbed. 

"Calmly,  sir!  calmly!"  said  the  lawyer,  who  re 
mained  entirely  self-possessed.  "No  outrage  will 
be  attempted  or  committed ;  nor  will  any  be  su  tfered 
on  your  side." 


A   SCENE   WITH   JUDGE   GRAY.  313 

"Outrage  on  my  side?  Give  me  patience!  El- 
dridge,.  this  from  you  ?" 

"  When  justice  if  in  any  way  subverted  the  public 
good  is  outraged;  and  I  need  not  tell  you  that  men 
in  higher  official  stations  than  yours  do  not  hesitate 
to  commit  outrages  of  this  character  almost  dail};. 
And  it  is  getting  to  be  pretty  well  understood  iu 
Arden,  that  you  are  not  always  over-scrupuloua 
about  administering  justice  with  an  even  hand.  I 
have  heard  several  recent  cases  alluded  to ;  and 
there  has  even  been  talk  of  impeachment." 

"  And  do  you  think,  Morgan  Eldridge,"  said 
Judge  Gray,  rallying  himself  and  speaking  with  an 
appearance  of  bold  indignation,  "  that  I  am  a  man 
to  be  frightened  at  such  a  bugbear?  Impeachment! 
I  wonder  if  I  haven't  had  that  shaken  into  my  face 
over  forty  times  by  men  who  had  been  dealt  out 
severe  but  even-handed  justice,  or  who,  like  you, 
sought  to  gain  through  me  some  personal  advan 
tage  ?  But  it  won't  do !  I  can  be  a  Gibraltar  if 
need  be." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  wraste  many  words  with  you, 
Judge  Gray,"  answered  the  lawyer,  coolly.  "  I  am 
here  for  the  accomplishment  of  certain  ends.  You 
got  possession,  through  this  villain  Craig,  of  noni^y 
all  my  property ;  and  I  wish  to  get  a  portion  of  it 
back  on  the  easiest  possible  terms." 

"Do  you  boldly  charge  on  me  complic'ty  with  a 
man  you  term  a  villain  ?" 

**  T  do ;  and,  what  is  more,  have  enough  prooi  to 

27 


314  WHAI   CAN   WOMAN   DO  ? 

convict  you, — at  least  in  the  public  mind.  You  were 
a  false  friend  to  me,  Judge  Gray,  acting  the  basest 
part  that  one  man  ever  acts  toward  another.  Do 
not  let  your  indignation  boil  over!  That  would 
only  be  folly.  What  I  allege  you  know  to  be  truth. 
With  the  smiling  face  and  extended  hand  of  a 
friend  you  lured  me  into  the  toils  of  an  unscru 
pulous  gambler,  with  whom  you  shared  the  gold  he 
won.  from  me." 

Not,  as  the  reader  might  infer,  did  Judge  Gray  loso 
all  command  of  himself  at  so  bold  a  charge  and 
madly  attempt  to  hurl  from  his  presence  the  man 
who  dared  to  make  it.  But  he  actually  cowered 
beneath  the  sternly-fixed  gaze  of  the  lawyer,  whom 
he  felt  suddenly  towering  above  him. 

"You  make  grave  accusations,  sir,"  the  judge  at 
length  said,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"I  do,"  was  promptly  answered;  "but  none  that 
I  am  not  ready  to  prove  by  unequivocal  evidence." 

"What  do  you  want?"  Judge  Gray  looked  uj: 
after  sitting  in  deep  thought  for  a  long  time.  He 
asked  the  question  very  abruptly. 

"Restitution!"  was  the  simple,  sternly-spoken 
answer. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  restitution?" 

"The  property  of  which  I  was  robbed  by  the 
gambler  Craig — or  at  least  a  portion  of  it — must 
come  back  into  my  hands." 

"Preposterous !" 

"  No.  I  am  claiming  simple  justice  at  your  hands, 
and  1  wish  you  to  understand  in  the  beginning  that 


A   SCENE   WITH   JUDGE   GRAY.  815 

I  will  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less.  In  the  first 
place,  then,  I  want  my  house  back  again  !" 

"I  said  a  little  while  ago  that  I  did  not  wish  to 
anil." 

"No  matter.  /  did  not  wish  to  sell  when  the 
bouse  was  wrested  from  my  possession." 

"I  presume,"  said  Judge  Gray,  "that  you  come 
prepared  to  dictate  terms  as  well  as  the  sale  ?"  He 
spoke  with  considerable  bitterness. 

"  I  will  not  imitate  your  example  when  you  had  me 
in  your  power,"  replied  Eldridge,  with  covert  con 
tempt.  "I  will  not  demand  the  uttermost  farthing. 
But  I  have  fixed  the  terms ;  and  they  are  these: — " 

"  Say  on !"     The  lawyer  had  paused. 

"  My  debt  was  four  thousand  dollars.  Three 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars  at  least  of  that  sum, 
borrowed  at  various  times  from  you,  were  won  from 
me  by  Craig, — not  fairly,  but  by  the  gambler's  cheat 
ing  arts ;  and  the  larger  portion  of  it  flowed  back, 
as  I  can  prove,  into  your  coffers.  Well,  you  took 
from  me  property  worth  five  thousand  dollars  to 
settle  a  mortgage  of  four.  Now  we  understand  each 
other.  The  terms  I  require  are  these : — the  restora 
tion  of  my  property  for  half  the  face  of  the  mortgage 
under  which  it  was  sold." 

Judge  Gray  sat  silent  for  some  minutes.  Raising 
his  eyes  at  length,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  subdued 
by  force  into  calmness, — 

"Any  thing  else  ?" 

"  T  es ;  I  must  have  two  years  in  which  to  pay  th« 
sum  of  two  thousand  dollars." 


316  WH  IT    CAN   WOMAN    DO  ? 

"Without  security,  of  course?"  said  the  julge, 
his  lip  slightly  curling  with  an  impotent  sneer. 

"No.  You  shall  be  secured.  I  will  take  no 
undue  advantage.  All  I  demand  is  right,  and  I 
will  exact  nothing  more  and  take  nothing  less." 

"I  must  have  time  to  consider,"  said  Judge  Gray, 
with  some  evasion  of  manner. 

"  Take  it.  But  the  period  must  be  brief.  By  to 
morrow  morning  your  decision  must  be  made  ;  and 
before  the  setting  of  to-morrow's  sun  I  shall  require 
all  the  papers  to  be  executed." 

Mr.  Eldridge  arose  as  he  said  this.  Judge  Gray 
did  not  move  in  his  chair,  but  remained  with  hia 
eyes  cast  upon  the  floor. 

u  You  have  taken  me  at  an  unfair  advantage,"  he 
at  length  said,  looking  up.  His  voice  had  a  choking 
sound,  and  his  face  was  almost  livid. 

"No,  Judge  Gray.  It  is  simply  this: — the  laws 
of  retribution  have  operated  with  an  unusual  direct 
ness  in  your  case.  You  were  so  eager  in  the  work 
of  digging  pits  for  the  feet  of  your  neighbors  that 
you  forgot  some  of  the  arts  of  concealment  and 
were  seen  at  the  bad  employment.  And  now  your 
wa}  in  the  world  has  suddenly  become  obstructed, 
aad  it  may  be  that  no  path  will  be  left  for  you  to 
walk  in  but  that  which  your  own  hands  have 
digged  full  of  pitfalls.  The  way  you  will  find  both 
troublesome  and  dangerous.  If  you  escape  destruc 
tion,  deem  it  a  matter  of  thankfulness ;  for  you  are 
in  imminent  danger !" 

The  calm,  earnest,  self-possessed  manner  of  Mr, 


A   SCENE   WITH   JUDGE   GRAY.  817 

Eld  ridge,  as  well  as  his  warning  words,  had  the 
effect  to  subdue  Judge  Gray  and  break  down  his 
1  aughty  spirit.  As  the  lawyer  turned  to  depart  ho 
called  after  him, — 

"  See  here,  Eldridge  !" 

The  latter  paused,  and  looked  at  the  judge. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  desire  about  the  house.  There 
ie  no  tenant  to  be  dispossessed;  so  you  can  go  in 
whenever  you  please." 

"It  is  well,  Judge  Gray,"  answered  Eldridge. 
*'  It  is  not  my  wish  to  give  you  any  needless  trouble 
or  to  act  from  any  spirit  of  retaliation.  But  to  one 
thing  my  mind  is  fully  made  up ;  and  that  is,  to  get 
back  at  least  a  portion  of  the  property  unfairly  taken 
from  me.  And  you  know  me  well  enough,  judge, 
to  be  fully  assured  that  I  am  not  a  man  to  stop  at 
halfway  measures." 

"Well,  well,  you  have  made  your  proposition, 
and  I  accept.  Beyond  this,  however,  let  me  warn 
yon  not  to  attempt  any  thing;  for  if  you  do,  so  help 
m<j  Heaven  !  I  will  fight  you  to  the  last  breath." 

"  Make  no  rash  threats,  Judge  Gray ;  and  beware 
how  you  place  yourself  in  any  position  of  antago 
nisin.     t  am  armed  at  every  point,  and  you  are  vul 
nerable  in  a  dozen  places." 

"  Pah  !  I  understand  this  sort  of  tactics."  The 
j i id  2" 3  tossed  his  head  in  affected  contempt, 

"  Perhaps  not  so  fully  as  you  imagine.  They  are 
no  feints  of  the  enemy,  made  for  purposes  of  intimi 
dation  and  to  cover  a  weak  armament.  No :  no 
thing  of  the  kind.  Beyond  this  I  am  prepared  to 

27* 


818  WHAT    CAN   WOMAN   DO? 

go,  and  you  must  yield  to  my  demand,  for  I  shaJ 
not  give  up  the  requirement." 

"As  one  concession  has  only  given  courage  to 
make  a  new  demand,  so  a  second  will  but  prompt 
the  third  exact  vn.  I  shall  have  to  give  battle  in 
he  end.  So,  as  a  fight  seems  inevitable,  I  bad  far 
Defter  enter  into  it  with  strength  unimpaired.  The 
game  seems  to  be  this : — to  weaken  me  first,  and 
then  crush  me  down  by  a  sudden  assault  with  all 
the  forces  you  can  rally." 

"Don't  jump  to  any  hasty  conclusions,"  said  El- 
dridge,  quietly.  "I  have  but  one  more  demand. 
When  that  is  satisfied  I  shall  have  nothing  further 
to  say,  except  to  repeat  my  warning  in  regard  to 
Craig.  He,  if  brought  to  conviction,  must  not 
escape  with  any  light  penalty.  The  law  must  have 
its  course." 

"  I  will  hear  you,"  said  Judge  Gray,  in  a  dogged 
manner. 

"Through  some  mismanagement  or  trick  of  hia 
lawyer,  I  am  not  clear  which,  Dr.  Penrose  has  been 
led  into  signing  a  paper  which,  if  put  in  force, 
will  unjustly  deprive  him  of  his  property.  That 
paper  I  have  traced  to  your  possession :  and  I 
furthermore  learn  that  you  hold  it  with  a  full  know- 
lodge  of  its  real  character." 

"Say  on."     The  judge  evinced  no  surprise. 

"The  doctor  must  be  put  right      That  is  all." 

"  Well ;  he  can  be.  I  suppose  nobody  wishes  to 
do  him  wrong." 

"  When  that  document  IB  restored,  and  one  that 


HOME   AGAIN.  819 

«/jq«res8e»  u«»  .«^»i  bligation  and  no  more  substi 
tuted,  I  shall  have  u« thing  further  to  say  in  hia 
case." 

The  judge,  after  sitting  for  a  little  while  in  evi- 
»ent  debate,  raised  his  desk,  and,  taking  therefrom  a 
paper,  handed  it  to  the  lawyer,  and  said, — 

"Is  that  the  document?" 

Eld  ridge  glanced  over  its  pages,  and  replied,  as 
he  reached  it  back, — 

"Yes ;  this  is  the  paper  to  which  I  refer." 

"  Keep  it,  and  have  the  substitute  correctly  drawn. 
I  was  not  aware  that  it  contained  any  oppressive 
features." 

"All  right,"  replied  Eldridge,  in  a  cheerful  voice. 
"I  have  nothing  more  to  demand." 

And  he  bowed  formally,  and  left  the  judge  in  a 
state  of  mind  by  no  means  to  be  envied. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

HOME   AGAIN. 

in  the  whole  life  of  Mrs.  Eldridge  had  the 
hours  moved  with  such  leaden  feet  as  during  the 
two  weeks  that  followed  the  departure  of  her  hus- 
nand  and  Katy  for  Arden.  A  thousand  doubts  and 
foars  haunted  her  mind;  and,  had  she  known  the 
whole  truth  in  regard  to  her  husband's  fearful  de 
clension  during  the  years  of  their  separation,  she 


820  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN 

would  have  fallen  into  states  of  despair.  Katy  had 
impressed  her  deeply  and  almost  strangely.  There 
was  a  sphere1  about  the  child  that  seemed  to  her  at 
limes  like  the  sphere  of  an  angel, — gentle  loving, 
and  full  of  the  inspiration  of  good  purposes.  The 
deformed  hody  and  the  pale,  withered  face  were 
soon  obscured  by  the  exceeding  beauty  of  her  life 
and  character;  and,  when  Mrs. Eldridge  remembered 
how  she  had  once  felt  and  spoken  about  the  poor 
child,  the  hot  blood  of  shame  leaped  in  crimson 
flushes  to  her  brow. 

The  intercourse  between  Mrs.  Burden  and  Mr. 
Eldridge,  the  once  high-spirited  boy  who,  maddened 
by  her  imperious  rule,  had  abandoned  his  home  and 
gone  forth  into  the  world  at  a  very  early  age,  was, 
after  their  meeting  and  reconciliation,  of  the  tenderost 
character.  Both  were  subdued  by  years  of  suffer!  ng ; 
and  life's  painful  experiences  had  softened  their 
hearts  into  forgiveness. 

At  the  promised  day  Mr.  Eldridge  and  Katy  re 
turned,  both  so  smiling  and  cheerful  that  their  pre 
sence  fell  like  golden  sunshine  upon  the  spirits  of 
those  who  had  so  fondly  looked  for  their  coming 
A  little  while  only  did  they  remain  with  the  good 
Mrs.  Angell,  and  then  went  back  to  Arden,  taking 
with  thc:m  the  long-lost  wife  and  mother. 

"  God  bless  you  and  keep  you  from  evil,  my  chil 
dren  !"  said  Mrs.  Angell,  fervently,  as  she  clasped 
their  hands  in  parting.  "Only  one  thing  will  I  ask 
of  you,  and  that  is  the  boon  of  a  yearly  visit.  You 
must  ccme,  Morgan  and  Harriet  and  "Katy, — all. 


HOME    AGAIN.  32J 

A  liulo  while,  and  I  shall  pass  from  my  labors,  and 
go  up,  I  trust,  to  higher  fields  of  usefulness;  but 
while  I  remain  here  it  will  gladden  my  eyes  to  see 
von  sometimes.  Say  that  yon  will  come." 

••Our  'yes'  is  spoken  with  no  truant  hesitation," 
v  JLS  earnestly  said  by  Mr.  Eldridge.  "  I  inast  return 
livro,  and  often."  And  he  looked  tenderly  upon  his 
tearful  stepmother,  who  stood  silent  and  sorrowful 
nmid  the  group.  "Years  are  too  distant  intervals." 

"  You  cannot  permit  us  to  look  upon  your  dear 
faces  too  often,"  replied  Mrs.  Angell.  "Our  hearts 
will  anticipate  the  coming  time  with  quickened 
pulses.  God  bless  you  all !" 

And  so  they  parted. 

It  was  on   the  second  day  after  leaving  Bloom- 
field   that   the   stage  drove  into  Arden.      Mrs.  El 
dridge   had   asked    no  questions   about   her  future 
home,  though  thought  was   reaching   forward  and 
her  heart  trembling  with  vague  anticipations. 

She  sat  by  the  window  of  the  coach,  veiled.  Aa 
each  familiar  object  met  her  eyes  the  weight  upon 
her  feelings  grew  heavier,  the  pressure  increasing 
almost  to  suffocation. 

As  they  passed  the  house  of  Mrs.  Glendy  she 
noticed  that  it  was  closed,  and  that  all  around  it 
were  evidences  of  neglect,  as  if  it  had  not  for  some 
time  been  occupied.  Still  the  stage  rolled  on. 
Where  would  it  stop?  Ah,  if  the  suspense  were 
over!  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came  to  the  old  home 
where  so  maiij  happy  and  unhappy  years  were 
ipent, — the  house  back  to  which  her  heart  had  so 


S22  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN    DO? 

often  turned  sighing  in  its  dreary  exile !  tShe  held 
her  breath  as  the  stage  neared  the  spot.  Suddenly 
the  driver  reined  up  his  horses,  and  the  stiige 
stopped  at  the  very  door  of  all  others  in  Arden  she 
Da>8t  desired  to  enter;  and  in  a  few  moments  two 
tout  boys,  with  scarcely-recognised  faces,  were 
clasping  her  neck  with  their  arms  and  sobbing  out 
the  name  of  "  Mother!" 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Weakly  ?"  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  speak 
ing  to  Mrs.  Lamb,  whom  she  found  in  charge  of  the 
household,  and  who,  it  was  mutually  understood, 
was  to  have  with  them  a  permanent  home.  They 
were  sitting  near  one  of  the  windows  above  on  the 
morning  after  the  return  of  Mrs.  Eldridge.  "Why, 
he  looks  ten  years  older  than  when  I  last  saw  him !" 

"  Yes,  that  is  Mr.  Weakly,  poor  man !  He's  run- 
aing  down  sadly." 

"What  of  his  wife?" 

"Ah,  she's  deeply  to  blame."  And  Mrs.  La  ml. 
shook  her  head.  "In  Weakly  you  see  what  evil  a 
foolish  woman  can  do.  A  kinder,  more  indulgent 
husband  than  he  has  been  is  not  to  be  found  in 
Arden.  The  fact  is,  he  let  his  wife  have  her  own 
way  a  great  deal  too  much.  She  was  a  gossip  and 


CONCLUSION.  323 

gild-about,  and  did  not  make  his  home  as  pleasant 
for  him  as  it  should  have  been.  So  he  sought  plea 
sure  away  from  home,  and,  very  naturally,  trot  into 
dangerous  company.  Instead  of  holding  him  to 
her  side  by  the  s\vcet  attractions  and  loving-kiu'l- 
r. esses  that  a  true  wife  should  ever  extend  toward 
her  husband,  she  was  cold,  indifferent,  and  some 
times  captious  and  exacting.  He  was  naturally 
averse  to  contention,  and  so,  in  all  little  differ 
ences  that  arose  between  them,  gave  way.  At  last 
Mr.  Weakly,  seeing  that  his  wife  indulged  a  too 
great  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Glendy, —  a  woman  of 
whose  real  character  he  had  the  best  means  of 
forming  an  estimate, — requested  her  to  discontinue 
her  visits  and  never  in  future  to  admit  that  person 
age  into  their  house.  To  this  the  lady  demurred. 
Mr.  Weakly  was  in  earnest ;  for  the  reputation  of  his 
wife  was  at  stake.  He  forbade  her  ever  again  enter 
ing  the  house  of  Mrs.  Glendy.  In  an  hour  after 
ward  she  went  there  again,  and  with  the  full  know 
ledge  that  the  eyes  of  her  husband  were  upon  her. 
Can  you  wonder  at  his  being  indignant?  When  he 
met  her  in  the  evening  it  is  said  that  high  words 
passed  between  them,  and  that  she  made  all  kinds 
of  wild  threats  of  what  she  would  do,  declaring, 
among  other  things,  that  she  would  leave  him. 
Bu4.  matters  did  not  proceed  so  far.  A  permanent 
estrangement,  however,  was  the  consequence ;  and 
Mr.' Weakly  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time  away 
from  home.  To  show  her  independence,  his  wife 
continued  her  visits  at  Mrs.  Glendy's.  to  the  serious 


82-4  WHAT   CAN    WOMAN   DO? 

damage  of  her  reputation.  At  last  some  things  oc 
curred  which  had  the  effect  to  open  her  eyes,  and 
sae  saw  herself  in  no  enviable  position.  Since 
then  no  respectable  lady  in  Ardcn  has  visited  her; 
and  she  leads  a  life  of  hermit-like  seclusion.  As 
foi  her  husband,  he  is  speeding  rapidly  on  the  down 
ward  way.  Pride,  hope,  and  ambition,  seem  to  have 
left  him.  Ah  me!  It  is  sad  to  think  of  the  ruin 
his  wife  has  dragged  down  upon  both  of  their 
heads." 

"And  what  of  Mrs.  Glendy?"  asked  Mrs.  El- 
dridge,  arousing  herself  some  time  after  from  a  deep 
reverie. 

"  She  left  Arden  some  months  ago,  in  company 
with  a  man  named  Craig,  whom  you  may  re 
member." 

"I  remember  him."  Mrs.  Eldridge  spoke  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"About  three  weeks  ago  she  was  found  dead 
one  morning  in  her  room,  at  a  small  country  tavern, 
some  ten  miles  from  here.  There  were  marks  of 
violence  on  her  which  led  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
murder  had  been  committed.  A  man  who,  from  the 
description  given  of  him,  resembled  this  Craig,  left  her 
there  a  few  days  previous  to  th-e  terrible  event  and 
had  not  been  seen  in  the  neighborhood  afterward. 
Late  in  the  night  a  traveller  stopped  at  the  tavern 
and  took  lodgings.  In  the  morning  he  was  gone, 
and  no  one  had  noted  his  departure.  The  con 
jecture  is  that  this  man  was  Craig ;  and  the  sheriff 
of  the  county,  after  a  week's  pursuit,  succeeded 


CONCLUSION.  325 

in  arresting  him,  and  that  under  circumstances 
strongly  justifying  the  first  suspicions." 

'<  '  The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard.'  '  Mre.  Ei- 
rliklgo  made  only  this  remark,  and  then  sat  long  in 
Abstracted  silence.  Deeply  humbled  and  thankful 
•jras  hor  heart, —  humbled  at  the  blind  folly  of  lior 
past  life,  and  thankful  that,  while  wretchedness  and 
ruin  were  the  doom  of  her  two  false  friends,  the 
light  of  love  was  in  her  dwelling  and  all  her  future 
radiant  with  golden  promise. 

At  the  trial  of  Craig,  which  in  due  season  took 
place  in  Arden,  the  evidence  against  him  was  so 
strong  that  a  verdict  of  murder  in  the  second 
degree  was  rendered ;  and  he  was  sentenced  to 
a  term  of  nine  years'  imprisonment.  Judge  Gray 
received  a  word  of  warning  from  Mr.  Eldridge 
before  the  sentence  was  announced,  but  for  which 
the  criminal  would  have  escaped  with  a  lighter 
stroke  of  retribution. 


And  here  we  close  our  record  of  events,  only 
remarking  that  the  future  of  Mr.  Eldridge  and  his 
family  realized  fully  the  promise  of  the  day  that 
dawned  on  their  night  of  sorrow.  Other  charai  ters, 
in  whom  the  reader  has  felt  an  interest,  we  have  not 
brought  forward  very  prominently,  as  at  first  de 
signed  ;  for  in  the  even  tenor  of  their  lives  were  so 
fovv  incidents  to  hold  the  attention  strongly  that  we 
could  not  well  break  up  the  onward-moving  narra- 

28 


326  WHAT    CAN    WOMAN   DO  ? 

five  with  episodes  which  to  many  would  have 
proved  wearisome  rather  than  attractive.  Enough 
has  been  indicated  to  show  the  uplifting  power  of 
the  loving  and  the  true-hearted,  and  to  prove  lhat 
woman's  influence  in  the  world  is  all-potent  for 
good  or  for  evil. 


IHl   KSB. 


T.  S,  AETHUE'S  POPULAR  WORKS. 


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TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR  ROOM,  and  What 

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ADVICE    TO    YOUNG    MEN  on   their  Duties 

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THE    TRIALS   AND    CONFESSIONS    OF  A 

Housekeeper,  Furnishing,  from  real  life,  many  of  the  trials,  perplexities, 
and  incidents  of  housekeeping,  embracing  in  its  range  of  subjects  such  as  ara 
grave  and  instructive,  as  well  as  agreeable  and  amusing.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 
With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

AFTER  THE  STORM.  A  new  and  fascinating  volume 
in  which  the  folly  of  too  much  reliance  upon,  one's  own  opinions,  and  a 
disregard  of  the  attentions  due  one  another,  is  fearfully  apparent,  whila 
the  story  is  deeply  interesting  throughout,  and  the  moral  unexceptionable. 
By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  60. 

THE    WAT   TO   PROSPER,  and  Other   Tales. 

Showing  the  power  of  virtue,  harmony,  and  fraternal  affection  among  mei»- 
bars  of  a  family  in  securing  their  future  well-being  and  prosperity,  and, 
wherein  the  want  of  these  qualities  conduces  to  misfortune  and  ruin.  By 
T.  S.  ARTHUR.  With  Mezzotint  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  91  60. 

THE   ANGEL    OF    THE    HOUSEHOLD,  and 

Ottier  Tales.  In  which  we  learn  how  kind  feelings  and  obedieao*  to  our 
better  impulses  benefit  us,  and  how,  with  the  little  heavenly  visiUnt,  tke 
tender  babe,  angelic  influences  enter  the  household.  By  T.  S.  ABI-MB. 
With  Mezzotint  Frontispiece.  Cloth,  f  1  50. 


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TRUE   RICHES;    or,   Wealth    Without    Wings, 

find  Other  Tales,  The  lessons  in  this  work  show  how  ruin  succeeds  t» 
unfairness,  and  success  to  honesty  of  purpose  ;  setting  forth  ti  uths  that  all 
should  remember,  and  that  no  one  can  learn  too  early  or  too  often.  B/ 
T.  8.  ARTHUR.  With  Steel  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  50 

HEART   HISTORIES,  and  Life  Pictures.    Giv- 

ing  painfully  correct  histories,  such  as  too  often  cloud  the  hearts  of  people 
and  may  generally  be  seen  in  the  dreary  eyes,  the  sober  faces,  the  subdued 
and  mournful  tones  that  almost  daily  cross  our  paths.  By  T.  S.  ARTITC*. 
Cloth  $1 50. 

HOME  SCENES:    Its  Lights  and  Shadows  as 

Pictured  by  TMV«  and  Selfishness.  Directed  toward  keeping  the  light 
of  love  forever  burning  in  our  dwelling,  and  toward  aiding  us  in  overcoming 
those  things  which  are  evil  and  selfish,  while  each  moral  presented  seems 
In  itself  a  jewel  worthy  a  place  in  memory's  casket.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR. 
Cloth.  $150. 

SPARING   TO   SPEND;   or,   The  Loftons  and 

tlie  Pirikertons.  A  book  showing  the  beneficial  results  of  a  wise  restric 
tion  of  the  wants  to  the  means — a  virtue  which  all  should  possess,  and 
which  in  this  extravagant  age  cannot  be  too  forcibly  illustrated.  By  T.  8. 
ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $150. 

LIGHT  ON  SHADOWED  PATHS.     Stories  which 

faithfully  point  to  many  of  the  different  shadows  that  have  crossed  the 
paths  of  others,  and  which  afford  much  of  invaluable  instruction,  tending 
to  rend  the  clouds  that  may  hover  o'er  us,  and  to  keep  uf  within  the  itmshina 
of  life.  By  T.  S.  ARTHU*.  Cloth.  $160. 

t>UT  IN  THE  WORLD.  Unveiling  the  sad  experiences 
that  necessarily  await  jealous,  proud,  and  sensitive  young  men,  and  uudia- 
eiplined,  wayward,  and  petulant  young  women ;  also,  revealing  th»  trm» 
and  only  way  of  •»cap«.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 


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OUR     NEIGHBORS     IN    THE    CORNER 

House.  A  fascinating  and  stirring  narrative,  which  adds  Its  terriW* 
evidence  to  the  fact  that  sin  will  find  people  out,  and  that  justice  will 
triumph  over  injury — even  under  extraordinary  circumstances.  By  T.  S. 
ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1 50. 

NOTHING    BUT   MONET.      Picturing,  in  the  most 

forcible  style,  the  difference  between  avaricious  and  ambitious  men  and  thoM 
who  prefer  social  happiness  and  peace ;  also,  offering  a  striking  lesson  to  th« 
rery  many  young  minds  In  which  gold  outlustres  every  other  consideration. 
By  T.  8.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS.     A  sequel  to  the 

preceding  volume,  yet  a  story  complete  in  itself,  In  which  we  are  shown 
how  the  precious  gold  in  our  natures,  after  we  have  encountered  severe 
discipline,  will  reveal  itself  in  our  intercourse  with  the  world.  By  T.  S. 
ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE  THREE  ERAS  IN  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE? 

or,  tJte  Maiden,  the  Wife,  and  the  Mother.  A  work  depicting  th« 
happy  effects  of  right  training  when  brought  in  distinct  contrast  with  th« 
wrong,  and  showing  also  the  fruits  of  right  living.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  With 
frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1 50. 

BEFORE    AND    AFTER    MARRIAGE;    or, 

Sweethearts  and  Wives,  and  Other  Tales.  Drawing  choice  pictures 
of  lovers  and  husbands  and  wives,  faithfully  contrasting  marriage  and 
celibacy,  and  teaching  the  folly  of  employing  money  to  the  mere  pampering 
of  pride  and  indolence.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  With  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $150. 

THE    MARTYR    WIFE,  and    Other    Tales.     A 

remarkably  interesting  work,  pointing  out  social  follies,  and  including  O« 
excellent  and  popular  stories  of  "The  Heiress,"  and  "TheBuined  Gamester  " 
.  S.  ARTHTR.  Clotk.  $1  £*. 

J* 


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MAliY  ELLIS ;  or,  TJie  Runaway  Match,  and 

Other  Tales.  Attractive  experiences  that  will  readily  commend  them 
selves  to  the  real  life  of  many  who  have  sought  for  but  never  found  their 
ideal.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

TJIE    YOUNG   LADY  AT  HOME.     Home  stories 

most  happily  drawn  by  the  author,  involving  the  troubles,  errors,  and  per. 
plexities  incident  to  domestic  life,  and  showing  woman's  real  mission.  87 
T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

STEPS  TOWARDS  HEAVEN,'  or,  Religion  in 

Common  JJife.  A  volume,  free  from  sectarian  or  denominational  influ 
ences,  which  cannot  but  deeply  impress  the  mind,  and  awaken  in  every  on* 
the  highest  tjpe  of  human  happiness.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Cloth.  $150. 

LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS   OF  REAL  LIFE. 

Containing  &  series  of  captivating  and  intensely  interesting  Temperance 
stories,  which,  perhaps,  no  othev  author  can  furnish  with  equal  acceptance, 
and  containing  a  moral  suasion  which  cannot  but  affect  for  good  all  who 
read.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

SKETCHES    OF  LIFE   AND     CHARACTER. 

Pleasantly  written  stories,  drawn,  from  everyday  life,  and  free  from  all 
exaggerations,  which  invariably  leave  a  powerful  impression  upon  tha 
mind  of  the  reader.  By  T.  S.  ARTHPB.  With  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

LEAVES    FROM    THE   BOOK    OF  HUMAN 

Iiife.  A  choice  selection  of  stories,  intended  to  leave  the  mind  aetive  with 
good  purposes  and  kindly  sympathies — the  value  of  each  one  of  which  i* 
clearly  evident.  By  T.  S.  ARTHUR.  Numerous  Illustrations.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

SWEET  HOME;  orf  Friendship's  Golden  Altar. 

A  companion  for  the  evening  hour ;  pure  in  morals,  elevating  in  tone,  cheer 
ful,  hopeful,  and  reverent  in  all  its  views  of  God,  and  &  transcript  of  "Home, 
Sweet  Home."  By  FRANCES  E.  PERCIVAU  With  Mezzotint  Frontippiec*. 
Cloth.  $1  24. 


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THE    ANGEL    VISITOR;    or,     Voices    of    the 

Heart.  Intended  to  bring  light  and  joy  to  those  who  are  heavy  in  heart, 
as  well  as  to  echo  the  gentle  teachings  of  Jesus,  and  to  comfort  the  sick  and 
afflicted  everywhere.  By  FRANCES  E.  PERCIVAL.  With  Mezzotint  Frontiv 
piece.  Cloth.  $125. 

THE  MORNING  STAR;  or,  Symbols  of  Christ. 

An  excellent  volume,  designed  to  magnify  the  beauty  and  wisdom  of  th« 
Word  of  God,  and  to  cause  the  believer  and  unbeliever  to  think  more  of  th« 
Saviour.  By  WILLIAM  M.  THAYER,  author  of  "Hints  for  the  Household," 
"Pastgr's  Wadding  Gift,  "etc.  etc.  Cloth.  $125. 

THE  SPIRIT  LAND.  An  instructive  and  very  desirable 
irork,  which  is  submitted  to  the  public  with  the  counsel  that  we  cling  to 
the  Word  of  God  as  the  only  infallible  guide  of  faith  aud  practice  amid  the 
fanaticisms  of  the  day.  By  S.  B.  EMMOXS.  With  Mezzotint  Frontispiece. 
Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE  DESERTED  FAMILY;  or,  The  Wander 
ings  of  an  Outcast.  A  forcibly  and  prettily  written  story,  designed  to 
•often  the  heart  to  just  influences,  to  warm  the  affections  to  proper  emotions, 
and  to  elevate  and  fructify  the  soul.  By  PAUL  CRETTON.  With  IllustratioBS. 
Cloth.  $1  25. 

FASHIONABLE   DISSIPATION.     A  stylish  and 

brilliant  narrative,  which,  together  with  " Adela  Lincoln:  A.  Tale  of 
the  Wine  Cup,"  included  in  the  book,  is  high-toned  and  worthy  popular 
favor.  The  former  by  METTA  VICTORIA  FULLER,  the  latter  by  M.  F.  CARBT. 
With  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

LIVING    AND    LOVING.      A  collection  of  beautiful 

•ketches  which  evince  all  the  vigor,  freshness,  and  attractiveness  so  peculiar 
to  the  authoress,  and  which  are  highly  instructive.  By  VIRGINIA  P.  Tow»- 
MLKD.  With  fine  Steel  Portrait,  Cloth.  $123. 


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WHILE  IT  WAS  MORNING.   One  of  the  authoress4* 

sweetest  stories,  in  which  we  are  tanght  that  sorrow,  pain,  and  disappoint 
ment  must  come  to  all  in  the  world;  yet  the  grand  truth  stands  out  iu 
glorious  significance — "The  righteous  shall  not  lose  their  reward."  By 
VIRGINIA  f.  TOWNSEND.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

ANNA   CLAYTON;  or,  The  Mother's  Trial.    A 

tale  of  real  life,  written  with  beauty  and  f  jrce  ;  and  in  its  plot  and  execution 
of  the  very  highest  moral  excellence  and  useful  tendency.  By  Mrs.  II.  3. 
HOORB.  rioth.  $1  25. 

THE  CHRISTIAN'S  GIFT.    Embodying  some  of  the 

most  select  religious  articles  from  the  finest  minds,  among  which  are  "Th« 
Refuge  from  the  Storm,"  "The  Sabbath  and  Heaven,"  "  Heaven  Conceivable 
to  the  Christian,"  etc.  etc.  By  Rev.  RUFITS  W.  CLARE,  author  of  "  Heaven 
and  Its  Emblems,"  etc.  etc.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

WOMAN'S    MISSION  AND    WOMAN'S    IN- 

fluence.  A  wonderful  work,  of  which  Bishop  Doane  has  said,  "It  is  the 
rery  book  which,  if  I  had  a  thousand  daughters,  1  wonld  put  into  their 
hands,  with  the  Bible  and  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  as  their  best  companion, 
Ae."  Tenth  American,  from  the  Seventeenth  London  Edition.  Cloth.  $1  23. 

THE  ENCHANTED  BE  A ITTY,  and  Other  Tales, 

Essays,  and  Sketches.  Embracing  many  of  the  finest,  most  elaborate, 
and  finished  articles  of  the  well-known  author.  By  Dr.  WILLIAM  ELDBB, 
author  of  "The  Life  of  Dr.  Kane,"  etc.  etc.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

THE  RAINBOW  AROUND  THE  TOMB;  or, 

Hays  of  Hope  for  those  who  Mourn.  A  carefully  arranged  and  attrac 
tive  book  of  selections,  both  of  prose  and  poetry,  containing  much  of  wisdom 
in  several  departments,  and  forming  a  valuable  and  desirable  gift  for  tha 
Christian  parent,  child,  or  friend.  By  EMILY  THOBNWELL,  author  of  "Th« 
Ladies'  Guide  to  Perfect  Gentility,"  "Young  Ladies'  Own  Book,"  et«.  eta. 
Ctotk.  $150. 


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HEAVEN    AND    ITS    SCRIPTURAL     EM- 

blcms.  A  series  of  articles  on  the  splendors  and  joys  of  glorified  saint* 
and  their  secret  com*  union  with  the  Father  in  the  Holy  of  Holies.  By 
Rev.  RUFUS W.  CLARK,  luthorof  "The  Christian's  Gift,"  "  Lectures  to  Young 
Men,"  etc.  etc.  With  Steel  Illustration.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

THE  YOUNG  LADIES'  OWN  BOOK.  An  offer 
ing  of  love  and  sympathy,  dedicated  to  the  maidens  of  her  native  land,  and 
eontaining  admirable  selections,  in  prose  and  verse,  which  will  universally 
be  regarded  as  superior  in  quality  and  authorship  to  most  similar  works. 
BT  EMILY  THORNWELL,  author  of  "  The  Rainbow  around  the  Tomb,"  et*.  eta 
Cloth.  $175. 

SUNLIGHT  AND   SHADOW;   or,  The  Poetry 

of  Home.  A  sprightly  and  well-written  work,  in  which  we  ar«  led  through 
scenes  and  incidents  descriptive  of  rural  life  in  America  ;  designed  for  the 
entertainment  of  young  men  and  ladies.  By  HARRT  PENCILLED.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

THE  ORPHAN  BOY;  orf  Lights  and  Shadows 

of  Humble  JAfe.  This  touching  story  of  humble  life  illustrates  the  magnet 
ism  of  love  over  the  human  soul,  and  iu  the  perusal  of  it  the  heart  of  the 
reader  will  often  be  drawn  out  in  sympathy  with  the  hero  of  the  tale.  B/ 
JBREMT  LOUD.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

THE  FORGER'S  DAUGHTER;  or,  Out  of  the 

Shadow  into  the  Sun.  A  book  for  pleasurable  and  profitable  pastime, 
which  will  interest  and  arouse  the  sympathies  of  every  intelligent  reader. 
By  MARTHA  RUSSELL.  Cloth.  $1  75. 

OUR   PARISH;  or,  Pen  Paintings  of  Village 

Life.  A  delightful  story  of  rural  life,  in  which  the  principal  characters  are 
among  those  earnest  and  sincere  souls  that  gather  every  sabbath  in  simple 
•onntry  churches.  By  GEOKGB  C  urmico  HILL,  Esq.  With  Steel  Frontispiece 
Cl«tk.  $175. 


10  NEW  AND  LATE  BOOKS. 

OUR  FOLKS  AT  HOME ;  or,  Life  at  the  Old 

Manor  House.  The  object  in  this  work  is  to  impress  upon  the  young 
the  importance  of  having  an  object  in  life,  and  that  object  a  really  useful 
one.  By  EDWARD  TOLITER.  Handsomely  illustrated  by  engravings  from 
original  designs.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

BAX8  THE  STRANGER,  and  Other  Stories.    In 

which  the  author  keeps  in  view  utility  in  its  higher  sense,  and  endeavors  to 
show  to  the  young  that  the  true  purpose  of  life  is  not  amusement  or  enjoy 
ment,  but  usefulness.  By  EDWARD  TOI.IVEE.  Handsomely  illustrated  by 
engravings  from  original  designs.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE  WREATH  OF  GEMS.    A  neat  unique  gift  book 

for  the  young  of  both  sexes,  in  which  are  selections  from  the  best  English 
and  American  literature — groupings  which  will  be,  doubtless,  both  new  and 
highly  acceptable.  By  EMILY  PBRCIVAL.  Steel  Frontispiece.  Cloth.  $1  50. 

THE  EARLY  MORN.  A  small  volume  addressed  to  the 
young  on  the  importance  of  religion,  which  will  be  fo«nd  admirably  adapted 
to  such  intelligent  and  educated  young  persons  as  have  been  unmindful  of 
the  demands  of  religion.  By  JOHN  FOSTER,  author  of  "  E»»»ys  on  Decision  of 
Character."  Cloth.  25  cents. 


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address  on  application.  Address, 

JOHN  E.  POTTER  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

617  Sansom  St.,  Philadelphia. 


